


if i say

by quixxotique (crownlessliestheking)



Series: i hope you find your peace [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (But also just plain hurt), Angst, Bro Strider's A+ Parenting, Character Development, Character Study, Extremely awkward interactions to friendship, Gen, Guys understanding each other and being bros, Hugs, Hurt & Comfort, Not Epilogue Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Game AU, References to Past Child Abuse, Slow burn friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 01:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/quixxotique
Summary: You know that you’re seeing Dirk in hindsight, because that shit’s always 20/20. But in the moment, you don’t see Dirk as you’ll come to know him. You see dark pointed shades and blonde hair and you think oh no, like you’ve somehow brought your dead brother back by sheer dint of wishing it so. You already cheated your way into the place with the rest of the victors, why shouldn’t you be reaping the rewards, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My gen fic for the Stridercest Zine: Our Fighters The Striders! You can get it here (https://gumroad.com/l/stridercestzine), and it's free, but you're very welcome to make a donation! All the money goes towards the charity RAICES- and the zine link has a description and link to their website.

The innocence in your face bled out without a trace  
You've won without an enemy, you're ill without a remedy  
As night bleeds into night, and I know I came off better than you  
It doesn't mean that I feel better

-If I Say, Mumford and Sons

* * *

You first see him in snatches. Just brief, stolen glimpses between bodies, between trees of a new world that you know bone-deep that you don’t belong in now that your job is done.

But- no. No, that’s not quite right. You know that you’re seeing him in hindsight, because that shit’s always 20/20. But in the moment, you don’t see Dirk as you’ll come to know him. You see dark pointed shades and blonde hair and you think _oh no_ , like you’ve somehow brought your dead brother back by sheer dint of wishing it so. You already cheated your way into the place with the rest of the victors, why shouldn’t you be reaping the rewards, right?

You slink away then, without a word to anyone. You’re very careful not to look at him, when you hear his name. It’s jarring to hear ‘Dirk’ and think ‘Bro’ in its place. It’s even worse to hear someone say ‘bro’, casual, all lowercase, not the man who you still kindasorta think of as your guardian, kindasorta hate. You always try to find someplace else to be, when that happens.

Those first few months of set-up, you know that you’re a fucking mess. You also know that everyone else knows it, but they’re too busy making this brave new world to deal with your shit. You were already good at pretending that it doesn’t hurt, but now? Now you could enter the world championships and fucking win them, bring home that gold. It says a lot, given that this is apparently the first stage and the world is literally only populated with other fucked-up individuals trying to deal (or not deal) with how fucked-up they are because of the game. You kind of think that the ones from your session are somehow the most well-adjusted, and that’s saying a whole fucking lot, given the shitshow that it was.

Not to bust out your inner Rose or anything- for one, it still sucks when you think of her- but you kind of think that it’s because most of y’all didn’t have it _that_ bad before the Game. Well. You did, but you’re very determinedly not thinking of that. You were less prepared, but had some vague idea of normalcy. Normality? Whatever.

The other four, though. Hoo boy. Two from a post-apocalyptic waterworld hellscape that you really don’t know how to conceptualize, another from a literal murder island out of some fuckin’ shitty sci-fi movie like it’s Jurassic Park except without dinosaurs he ended up with troll animal-parent things? You don’t even know how to count Jane, who’s a total sweetheart that inspires some kinda embarrassing reactions of the physical kind; sure, she grew up on normal Earth, but she also was homeschooled and had the whole fish alien evil lady great-grandmother looming over her with what you’ve come to learn is some kind of a mind-controlling tiara?

Yeah.

Being fucked-up shouldn’t be a competition, and you sure as hell ain’t proud for being able to beat the rest of them out for that first place trophy. It’s a dinky little thing that’s dented and spray-painted in ugly gold by like, a two year old with Parkinson’s or something, but damn if you’re not gonna put that shit front and center on your shelf. When you get one, when it’s in physical space rather than the weird sprite void thing you got when you became knock-off Big Bird.

You’re pretty sure that you could actually alchemize one and give it to the Consorts, and it’d come back exactly as shitty as you’re picturing. Those guys are fucking savages, especially the ones that infested your (Dave’s) land. Nakkodiles, man. Can’t live with ‘em, can definitely live without ‘em.

Not to say that you spend a lot of time Nakking with them and shooting the shit, but you do tend to hover around the Consorts in general. Sometimes the Carapacians, but they try to talk to you about things. Theoretically speaking, you do understand what the Consorts are saying, in that it’s translated into English in your head somehow. Realistically, it’s still fucking gibberish and bubbles. They could be telling you that you have a fat ass and that Jesus Christ just got birthed from the nearest tree, and you’d be all like ‘Mhm, yeah, cool story bro’. Not a fucking clue what they’re on about.

You don’t really know why it is you still understand them- some weird remnant from your sprite powers? You don’t really want to think about it too much.

The only issue with this is that Dirk’s taken to spending time around them, too.

Which isn’t a real issue because you’re not avoiding him, and it’s not like he’s called you out on what you’re not doing. All it means is that you go from seeing him only interacting with the others, to seeing him only interacting with the Consorts, except close to you.

At least they never try and call him by his name, just a weird series of spit-bubbles that translates as something like ‘Prince Cotton Candy Trousers’, which you kind of feel is in character for them even if he’s largely ditched the poofy pants. But it’s hard to hear that over the cacophony of weird Consort noises that they all make, and it’s frankly fucking unnerving to just see him appear, chilling under a tree with a baby salamander sitting on his stomach.

It’s worse sometimes that he’ll look at you, and you know- you _know_ that he’s just going to say something, ask a question, you can feel him tensing in anticipation for it. Those are the times you make excuses and ollie the fuck outtie, and not to brag, but you think you’ve got the best and most logical of excuses out there. Like having to take a cataclysmic shit, because your ass is like ten feet long, even though you don’t eat. Yeah. That one might have haunted your nightmares for a little bit- you can sleep, but you’re not really sure how thankful you should be for it.

You don’t think it should be so hard to see him close by, is what it boils down to. By all means, it shouldn’t be. He looks younger than Bro, softer. Like somehow Houston in the ‘80s had ground your Bro down more than Dirk living out all those weird survival guides Bro kept around but never read. Not that you could tell, anyway- you know that he could read, but you never knew whether or not his misspellings were totally ironic. Apparently Dirk’s some kind of genius, so they probably were. That ain’t a burning question that you wanted answered, but apparently it’s the only answer you’re gonna get at this point. Granted, ‘this point’ just involves staring a bit and cataloguing the visible differences between him and Bro, which is like one of those ‘spot the difference’ pictures, except the difference is twenty years, six inches, and a waterworld. And hair, probably. That cap had to be hiding something, ha, look at you, making the only fucking joke you can muster up about him. You could probably manage a few about Dirk, you think. You won’t, but you can do it.

There’s no real lines around Dirk’s mouth, he doesn’t wear a hat, he keeps to himself and the quiet you feel from him is less watchful and more nervous, but it still makes your down raise up almost defensively. It’s way more obvious than the hairs rising on the back of your neck. Another reaction that you can’t control, that you fucking hate.

You can’t tell if he’s staring at you because he wants _his_ Bro, if he thinks that you think he’s your Bro, or if it’s just because you’re a fucking orange freak. Reblog if you’re any of those things, ha ha. God, you wish that you knew. You wish you could read him, but you could never read Bro, and even you kind of know that they aren’t the same, you kind of still think that they are. Though this might just be because you straight up don’t know the guy, and his tells are all different from anyone else’s. Because you know he does have them- yet another difference to jot down, like you’re the best fuckin’ scientist around. Dave wouldn’t be able to stand him if he didn’t, and Dave sure as hell wouldn’t have offered up a few awkward words about how Dirk wasn’t Bro and wasn’t that bad, really. It was empty, as far as you’re concerned; he was saying it just to say he’d said it, dealt out that little slice of pity pie to Davesprite and dusted his hands of you.

You’re not in a particularly charitable mood, still. But then again, when are you ever?

Dirk doesn’t keep to himself so much as he wanders around, occasionally drifting into the orbit of others like the world’s weirdest comet. You know that you’re not a creep for noticing this, because it’s not like you’re out here paying _specific_ attention to him and lurking in the bushes like the stereotypical stalker. You’re bright fucking orange, the only thing you could feasibly blend in with is the goddamn citrus displays in the supermarket. And the whole paying attention deal isn’t just for Dirk; you tend to map out where Dave, Rose, and Jade are, for the most part. It’s easier to avoid them that way, obviously- and you don’t really need to worry about Dirk’s friends(?). The dude with the tiny shorts, who is apparently his ex, has fucked off into the woods almost immediately so that takes literally no effort on your part. You just sort of notice Dirk and Jane moping around sometimes, but that’s not your business. As for Jane and Roxy? You’ve heard about the whole ‘hot mom’ thing, and while it’s fucking hilarious, you know damn well that you thought the exact same thing.

So, it’s best to avoid that to keep what little dignity you still have left.

You don’t feel any kind of way about how easily they seem to take Dave into their group. Well, maybe not easily; you know there’s still some weird tension between him and Dirk, but not the kind where Dave is constantly losing his shit and calling him Bro. Part of you thinks that it’s at least 90% generated by Dirk, who’s real fucking awkward all the time. Not that you have to look all that hard to see it; it’s easy enough to tell that he’s glaringly out of his depth in social situations. You’re pretty sure everyone else knows it too.

All this to say that you’re not a voyeur, and you’re not going to spend more time brooding over Dirk’s behaviour. You’re just going to spend a lot more time doing your utmost best not to actually talk to him, or anyone else. It’s not like any of them are making a huge fucking effort, not that you can blame them. They’re busy with weird troll babies and building Can Town as a semi-permanent settlement and setting up new lives here in general, and you’re busy determinedly not pitching in with any of it.

You know that you should, but your job is fucking done, and no amount of conscience is going to make you throw in a clawed hand or two here. You kind of want someone to ask, just so you can say ‘fuck no’, but they haven’t. You figure that you’re giving off enough ‘leave me alone’ vibes that they don’t think it’s worth trying, which is fair enough. Sometimes, when you’re slipping away from Dirk as he appears to hang out with the Consorts, you could swear that he’s about to say something.

You don’t need to know what it is, and you don’t want to know what it is. If he’s gonna ask you for a favour of some kind, like ‘hey Mr. Sprite, get the fuck over yourself and start building some shit like the rest of us, pull your weight’. To which you’d say, ‘I fucking pulled my weight when I had to come into this timeline to save all your asses, thanks, I deserve some sweet goddamn retirement’. You notice all at once that you’re breathing hard, and that your claws are threatening to draw blood from the softer skin of your palms- you’re getting worked up over nothing and you need to calm the fuck down. That conversation’s never going to happen. You’re not going to stick around long enough for it to happen, for one. And Dirk- doesn’t need to know all that shit about you. You don’t even know if Dave, or Jade, or anyone else, has told him about where you really came from. What you did. But that’s another thing you’re not going to think about.

Your chest is tight and heavy. You lift your hands, dig your claws into the feathers ruffed around your neck. They feel like they’re choking you, now. You force yourself to take a few deep breaths, your eyes falling shut. You’re alone, and you’re okay with that- hell, it’s what you want. Honestly, the thought of anyone trying to talk to you and console you makes you want to vomit all over the place, which ain’t a good look at all.

No. You’re fine, and you’re going to be fine. You might not know how or why you’re here, but you think that maybe, you can make yourself look forward to it. Find a nice little spot for yourself on Earth C, like its equivalent of that place in Florida where all the old people cluster to live out their last days in cookie-cutter houses, right by questionable beaches with sand that gets fucking everywhere. You’re gonna go play some goddamn bingo like a octogenarian retiree, except you know what a computer is, so you can do it online. Find some weird high-stakes bingo challenge and fuckin’ rule it. You might be retired from all spritely business, but you can damn well create an online bingo bongo empire.

Retirement’s a pretty nice way to put it, you have to admit. Davesprite, retired. You think about how it makes you sound more dignified than you actually are, about how you sound like a productive member of a society long-dead, old and now ready to make the most of what’s left of your life.

Your job is done, you’re retired. You try savor how the word feels in your mouth, just like you’ll try to preserve the strange holding pattern you’ve fallen into where everyone else is concerned.

You can breathe a little easier now, even if you don’t open your eyes just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

“Hey.”

You nearly startle at his voice. It’s the day of the big fast-forward, as you’ve taken to calling it, and the real Dave has been mumbling to himself nervously for the past hour. Like there’s any chance the Knight of Time who won the fucking game would be able to fuck this up. You’re not quite here for moral support or lending a helping hand or anything- any Time powers you had got long overwritten. Other than the strange, unconscious timekeeping, you guess, but being a living stopwatch isn’t too glamorous. Either way, you’re pretty sure you’re not actually needed. Dave might be a dumbass, but he’s not good at straight-up wrecking shit. Inadvertently, maybe, but that shit ain’t how it is here.

You spent a whole fifteen minutes watching Dirk talk to him, one hand resting so lightly on his shoulder, like he was something fragile. You had to go after that, after Dirk’s head had turned and you just _knew_ he was staring at you through the shades, the feathers around your neck ruffling up defensively. You didn’t think he would have followed you, though; you didn’t think that he’d have noticed you left because he was looking.

You don’t have to be here, and you feel a little bit like an interloper, even as you hang back towards the edges of the clearing. Dirk’s attention on you magnifies that feeling.

“Yo,” you answer, cool as a goddamn cucumber, because that is a hundred percent what you are right now. Cool, not a cucumber. You’re not a fucking vegetable, though you kind of think those things are basically water and nasty, and shouldn’t even count as a vegetable.

“You ready?” he asks, and that question is a whole lot more casual and trite than you were expecting. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you trying to mother hen me, bro? Is that what’s happening here?” It makes you distinctly uncomfortable to realize that he actually might be, and doubly so when you notice how he tenses when you call him bro. But it’s ‘bro’ all lowercase, not Bro like your Bro, even though you can’t tell him that without sounding like an idiot. And you kind of don’t want to tell him all that, either.

“…Is that supposed to be a joke?” he finally says, and there’s a tiny divot of confusion between his eyebrows. What-? Oh. Mother hen, hen, bird, ha ha.

You scowl at him.

“Alright, then,” he says, a distinct note of amusement entering his tone. Looks like you’re not going to talk about the whole bro/Bro thing, which you’re definitely cool with. You’d be happy to go all eternity never talking about it. “Sorry for assuming you had a sense of humor.”

“Damn right you should be sorry, buddy. My sense of humor doesn’t even count as humor, you know that? It might appear once every four hundred and thirteen blue moons to just howl crazy at the giant blue orb in the sky and then it’s gotta hibernate for the next set of moons before it can rear its head again. Shit’s like one of those tundra plants, dude, it’s only peeking out for like two days out of ten years and you gotta be ready for it.”

“You say that, but I think it has to be longer between its appearances,” he tells you solemnly. You can’t see his eyes or anything, but you can kind of tell he’s a bit distracted. At least he’s not stealing glances back towards the real Dave or anything- at least, not overtly. Maybe they’re talking now. It’s a thing that they do, though usually through PesterChum. You haven’t like, asked or anything. But it’s a solid guess.

“Since a blue moon occurs every 2.7 years, it’d actually be 1,115 years between every joke you crack, which is definitely not the same as 2 days every 10 years. The ratios have a difference on the order of ten.” You blink dumbly at him. Okay, maybe he wasn’t talking to Dave, maybe he was just doing some fact checking to make sure you’re not back on your bullshit. Well, you kind of think that’s even worse, because it shows he’s a big fucking nerd.

“You’re a big fucking nerd,” you tell him, eloquent as ever. “And keep that math away from my face, dude.”

“No way, man. Didn’t they tell you in school that you need calculus to live and breathe?”

“No, but I know I need it to sleep, and if I really gotta wipe my ass with something, the textbook would do in a pinch.”

“You got so much ass, I feel like you’d need more than one textbook,” he says, deadpan in the way that makes you think he’s actually being really cautious and trying way too hard to seem casual about this. Or maybe it’s the fact that he immediately says, “Sorry, was that too much?”

Yeah. It’s definitely that you can read him like an open book.

“The only thing too much is my ass,” you agree, equally deadpan. Is it weird as fuck to be discussing the current state of your tail (not actually an ass, you don’t even have a crack) with the alternate universe version of your shitty guardian? Immensely. But you’re handling this. “Anyway, that’s enough of that for now. I know you’ve got the whole affinity for plush rumps thing going on, but still.”

“True enough, but I’m not sure yours exactly counts as plush.”

“And I’m not sure mine exactly counts as ass, either.”

“Touché.”

“Anyway, did you actually want something, or?” You trail off meaningfully, eyeing the treeline. You doubt that it looks like you have anywhere important to be or anything, because he probably knows you don’t, but it’s a nice image to uphold.

“I mean, I asked my question already. Ain’t my fault you grabbed it and dragged us along on a circular tangent,” he replies. The amusement’s back in his tone, and you bristle at it.

“Why wouldn’t I be ready? It’s not like this is the most dangerous shit I’ve done. Not to brag or anything, but I’ve had to keep Jade away from my dinner.”

“You eat?”

“No, but that’s not the point.”

“Right, right.”

“That was a dog joke,” you say, pointedly.

“No. No, I got that.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Silence reigns for a long eight point five seconds. It sets you on edge, but you don’t have anything else to say. Hell, this is the first time you’ve even spoken to him, and sure it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened, but it is painfully- and you cannot emphasize enough how painfully- awkward. It’s kind of dumb, how you’re wishing his voice took on any sort of familiarity to you. But Bro didn’t talk- ever. So you’re just left wondering if this is what he sounded like, when he was younger. If his voice would’ve been deeper and rougher, or comically high-pitched. Which you doubt, but the thought nearly makes you crack a smile.

Dirk turns, and it makes you bristle, at how he’s also looking for an out. Fucking whatever. You know you shouldn’t be pissed about it, but that just makes the whole thing worse. He was the one who came over here, he doesn’t just get to decide he’s done and it’s time to go. You follow his line of sight, and your eyes land on Jake, legs out for Harambe, and engaged in deep conversation with another sprite that somehow made it in here.

You’re not too sure about how the weird amalgamation of troll and cat with god-powers feels about all this, but he/they look happy. Mostly. Apparently troll-cat fusions are good for the soul. There’s something familiar about it that niggles at you, but without the near-bottomless well of arcane game info for you to tap into, you can’t quite say what it is. And without Time powers, you can’t exactly go peeping in past lives and timelines to see what’s what. Not that you could, you think. You’re a Knight, not a Seer. You fight, you protect, you sacrifice, you-

Are not going to think about this with Dirk right in front of you, his gaze now shifted back towards you.

“Are _you_ ready?” you throw the sentence into the air between you like it’s a verbal gauntlet. Like you’re inviting him to slam the fuck down in a rap battle, instead of just being polite. Your tone isn’t even in the vicinity of polite. Polite is several star systems away from you- you’d need a wormhole to get there, and even then it’d be a whole lotta light-years.

“No,” Dirk answers simply. You start; you’d been expecting something more cryptic, and vague, and weird. And yet here he is, being honest.

You don’t really like it much.

You wait a couple more seconds, half wanting him to elaborate because shit if the dude’s nervous you kind of what to know why, want to know what’s getting under his skin. And half-relieved when he _doesn’t_ offer more information, because you’re not his fucking therapist or his confidante, and it’d be bullshit if either of you pretended otherwise. As far as you know, he’s just talking to you out of pity. Or something. The way the weird kids always end up gravitating towards each other- can’t be an outcast alone, after all.

“Not gonna add any more to that, huh,” you say. It’s less a gentle prompting and more you jabbing him with a conversational stick, but you really don’t think that subtlety works well on him.

“Well, there’s not much to add, for one. I’ve got the same concerns going in as everyone else, except Dave, since he’s also worried about fucking it up. He won’t, of course. But the fact that none of us are concerned about it is kind of wigging him out. It’s like he’s overcompensating for the worry somehow by putting more pressure on himself.” All this, Dirk says almost fondly, shaking his head. “I guess I’m just worried about how things will change. It’s not like humans had the best track record around when it comes to the environmental shit, y’know?”

“Uh.”

You kind of want to point out that it’s because of the whole troll deal that his world got fucked up to begin with, but you don’t think it’s a good idea.

“I think the effects would’ve been seen when y’all were still there, too.” Oh, well. Never mind.

You just shrug, casual, and hopes he can’t tell that you and Dave were not the most environmentally-aware teenagers around. Or that Dave hasn’t gone and said that? Not that it matters. Because it doesn’t.

“But maybe not regarded as that serious?” Dirk trails off, clearly distracted by rummaging through whatever history textbook or Internet archive he may have memorized. Or kept on his shades to access easily, you’re not sure.

“Well, you go delve deep into the archives, and let me know when you find the answer.”

“Oh- yeah. No problem. You’ll be the first person I go to, dust-covered, bleeding from several papercuts, and newly asthmatic,” he says, deadpan. You don’t actually crack a smile at that, but you come dangerously close to it.

“Damn, dude. That’s the kind of dedication I’m looking for. I say jump, you say how high and you’re already in the air. Hell, you’ve already read my mind and you know exactly how high I want you to jump.”

You watch the shape of his mouth as he talks- his lips are thin and chapped, his cheeks have lost the hollowness they had before. There are four freckles in the shape of a gull’s wings spanning the bridge of his nose- or maybe they’re just a line and you’re imagining things. His front two teeth are slightly crooked, turning into one another like conspirators and you’re the one they’re plotting against. You wonder if he would’ve had braces in another life- maybe he would have, he’s a perfectionist if you’ve ever seen one, and maybe it really gets his goat when he stares in the mirror and notices that his teeth are crooked. Not even crooked enough to be obvious at first glance, crooked in a normal person way, where you need to be staring like a weirdo to even notice it. And- well, you’re apparently the weirdo, but you’re pretty sure he’s neurotic enough to spend an hour staring in the mirror trying to wish his teeth straight. You almost think he could do it, if it were, y’know, physically possible.

You need to stop yourself from laughing at the thought of Dirk staring intently at the mirror, his face screwed up in concentration and slowly turning red like a cartoon as he tries to wish his teeth straight. Not that any part of him is straight, which might actually be why he couldn’t do it.

“Bro?”

His voice actually startles you, but it’s the note of what you think is concern that makes you recoil. You don’t want it to be noticeable, but you’re pretty sure it is, and you’re stupidly grateful that he doesn’t try and call you out on it. Bro. Fuck, that word. Fuck that word. It’s a conscious effort to maintain the blankness on your face now.

“Yeah?” you say, and damn is that voice of yours even like a number. Like two, or four, or sixty-four, specifically.

“I did just ask you a question,” Dirk says, and oh fuck, you were not paying attention to that. Never have you been so grateful for your shades, but you think that he can tell that you were staring anyway. Jesus. You’re not gonna look confused, you’re gonna play this off like it’s normal.

“And I did just not answer it,” you tell him. Apparently you’re also playing it off like you’re a rude bitch, but if it works, it works, right? Dirk shifts his weight slightly, and okay, you don’t know how to read that, you never actually saw Bro do it except for when he’d been on his feet for hours, or when-

You float further back.

You’re not going to remember what he looked like when he was about to strike, even though you know the sight well. Both facing you, as Dave the human and Dave the sprite, and facing someone- no, some _thing_ \- else in his final moments. Those memories aren’t something you want to deal with right now, either. You blink away blood splatters and pain that numbed you to your core and the phantom feeling of balance, of having both wings.

“…Right,” he says, slowly. You can’t read his tone either, but you can sort of tell that he’s letting it go, albeit reluctantly. There’s another twitchy moment of silence- and it probably is just a few seconds, but for you it feels like an eternity- before he just nods. Not at you, but more to himself, like a decision has been made. Sharp, decisive, precise like a line drawn in the sand, like you think everything he does has to be. You don’t know how deliberate it is that he’s let you see it, though; if it was Bro, you’re sure it’d be, like some kind of dismissal, like you weren’t worth the shit on his shoe (not that it ever happened to him). But it’s Dirk, and you have the general knowledge that he might not be that used to people being around still.

But whatever it is, a decision sure as hell has been made, and he just- turns and goes, what the fuck. You’re kind of pissed about it for a second, because what, you’re not even worth a fucking goodbye?- but then you remember that you’re meant to be relieved about the whole thing. Which you are.

God, you really fucked it up. But at least he’s gone, and you’re left alone with the buzzing of your thoughts, anxiety gnawing away at your stomach. Better be by yourself than have a witness to that. 


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

The first message comes not four days into your habitation, post-fast forward. You’ve managed to rustle up a place to stay in Can Town, because you still fuckin’ like it here, and it’s quieter than any of the bustling cities that have sprung up. But moving house is more work than you thought it’d be, especially since You’re not actually expecting it; you think it’s some kind of automatic notification about Wi-Fi connections, embarrassingly enough. But no, bold as brass in orange text is a message from someone you’d assume was past-or-future-Davesprite, if it weren’t for the grammar and different username. You’re not at your most observant, okay?

TT: Hey.   
TT: You settled in?   
You’re still trying to process the fact that two measly lines of text can send your heart racing and anxiety building in your gut, when you notice the three dots at the end of the screen. Oh Jesus fuck, he’s typing. You nearly drop your goddamn phone since you’re fumbling like an idiot with it. 

The thing is, you can’t even figure out what ulterior motive he might have going on there. Unless it’s some kind of long con to get you to be sorry for being a rude bitch before, or some weird Davesprite-pity related thing, but you doubt it. He’s not really invested in you, not in a way that would make him give a shit. He’s gotta be curious, you think; it’s not like anyone else could’ve put him up to it. 

TT: Or are you just scouting around to decide the best place to do it?   
TT: Couldn’t blame you if that’s the case- there’s a fuckton around depending on what you want to live like.   
TT: Hell, you could even set up shop as a cave ogre in the wilds if you wanted, but I don’t think that’s particularly appealing.   
You…guess he’s ignoring the fact that you didn’t want to talk to him before and that denial is something powerful. And you’re seriously tempted to not respond, turn off PesterChum and pretend like you’re actually looking for a place to crash instead of choosing the first empty little house you laid eyes on and not leaving it since. There’s no more dots on the bottom of the screen, though, so Dirk’s presumably done talking for now and is waiting for an answer, and you spent all that time before the skip avoiding the hell out of him or just barely coexisting in silence, so it wouldn’t be hard to continue that holding pattern, but-

You want to give him one.

It’s a shock, for sure. But he’s talked to you, and it’s casual enough, and you have to admit, you’re kind of curious as to how he managed to win Dave over- and maybe about him in general, weird though he seems. And also his motives for talking to you, which you could think about all day but still probably get nowhere.

(Deeper down, you don’t want to admit that you want him to look at you like that, too. Get the same approval that Dave’s got from him, that neither of you managed to get from Bro.)

So, anxiety churning in your stomach, you start to compose an answer. Talking is something you can do, hell, your mouth can run a mile a minute if you just give it the chance. Typing is even easier, when you can basically think the words into your iShades. Your fingers claws do work with touch screen shit and you’ve never really questioned how, just been grateful for it, but you’re definitely more of a hands-off kinda guy when it comes to typing shit. Drawing is a different story, and you’re proud to say that SBaHJ got a whole lot better in-game once you’d taken over. Shitty art elevated to a whole new level. 

It's like half your brain’s dedicated to running that conversation on auto-pilot, and the other half is still trying to process why it is he’s talking to you. Which is not a bad thing entirely- admittedly, you’d thought that you wouldn’t have to deal with this ever, after that weird, aborted attempt before you all got to this place in time, but you know that Dirk’s nothing if not determined. Secondhand, of course, but firsthand in the way that Bro was persistent as all hell. He would get what he wanted, and if what he wants is to talk to you, then. Well. Guess you’re in for a conversation.

Not that Bro ever gave you the light of day to talk, which is probably accounting for a good 80% of your confusion right now. There’d be an error.exe message flashing if your brain still worked like that, and you’re kind of thankful that it doesn’t anymore. Not really. You’re back on organics, babey. Although you figure that spritely knowledge, somewhat infinite as it was, might have provided you with a more adequate toolbox to deal with this entire Talking To Dirk deal, so maybe you’re celebrating a bit prematurely.  
It still takes you an embarrassingly long time to come up with a response you think is just casual enough, but also definitely relevant to what he even said to you. 

TG: nah man lets not go for the immediate cave troll deal im fully fuckin ready to rock out in a house with like running water and a plush-ass mattress   
TG: granted ive achieved precisely one (1) of those things in my new pad but apparently mattress shopping is harder than they show you in commercials   
TG: cant even bounce around that shit like it’s a inflatable castle toy   
TG: at that point its like why even bother dude   
TG: i can achieve the slow-mo bounce float but then ive got them salespeople hustling me about like sir no you cant do that in here sir it’s a family establishment sir how dare you actually fall asleep on these here plush mattresses specifically designed to do that   
TG: not that any of this has happened of course   
TT: Of course.   
TT: Mattress misadventures aside, ordering one online works surprisingly well for the lack of tactile effect. Or so I hear, as long as you know what the fuck the descriptions mean.   
TG: shit dude i know   
TG: what the fuck is memory foam amirite   
TG: what is it remembering and why is it so expensive   
TT: For that price, it should be recording your dreams to give you a play-by-play of them in the morning.   
TT: But the real rip-off is where they don’t tell you that ‘firm’ means rock solid, enough that you’d break a bone if you fell on it the wrong way.   
TG: i mean aint that true of anything   
TT: You have to try a lot harder to break a bone on a mattress, is all I’m saying.   
TG: now whos having misadventures huh   
TT: I was young and foolish and full of hubris.   
TG: definitely not how the saying goes   
TT: Like Icarus, I bounced too high. And like Icarus, I fell.   
TG: wow   
TG: primo blackmail material dude   
TT: What?   
TT: Dude, no.   
TT: My bed was held up by fucking cinderblocks, and there wasn’t much give to the mattress.   
TT: Guess my Bro thought I needed good posture or something? Either that or the springs got all rusted and stuck, which is a distinct possibility.   
TG: what?   
TG: you mean that all your shit was rusty?   
TT: Nah, just the little things.   
TT: Anything I made myself- anything new, that is- needed me to keep an eye on it and replace any parts that got too fucked up. But the rest? I’ve got no idea how my Bro did it, but the major appliances worked just fine. Normal ones.   
TT: I wouldn’t really expect an Alchemiter to rust, though. Game constructs work differently, as far as I can tell.   
TG: yeah dude fair enough   
TG: wait so your mattress didn’t bounce at all is what youre saying   
Yeah, that’s a smooth swerve back to the topic at hand. You don’t actually think Dirk’s probing you for information about Game mechanics at all, because that shit’s over, and also it makes no goddamn sense, but that doesn’t mean you want to talk about it. If you think hard enough, you can probably summon up the requisite knowledge. But you don’t. It’s Schrodingers knowledge now, bitch, and he can have it. 

TT: Basically, yeah.   
TT: I actually fell from the pylons and hit the water hard enough to break my arm. Wasn’t fun.   
TG: jesus christ   
TG: that was- pretty high up im guessing   
TT: High enough.   
TT: The Icarus thing might have been an exaggeration. If I’d fallen from my rocketboard, it actually would’ve killed me.   
TG: damn that’s kind of a sobering thought   
TG: mine was just a piece of shit   
TG: daves   
TG: i mean daves   
TT: Yeah?   
TG: yeah im not sure we reasonably could’ve fallen from it for anything other than sheer idiocy like the thing went so fuckin slow   
You’re pretty sure he’s just being charitable by ignoring your slip-up, but you’re grateful for it. It lets you keep talking, and you do, like all the words you’ve never said are somehow bubbling up and running over, and Dirk’s just there in the floodplain waiting for it. You’re honestly surprised at how smoothly it goes, for what basically amounts to small-talk that you might find painfully boring. Maybe it’s not boring ‘cause you’re real fuckin’ anxious at first, but.

Well.

You almost hate to admit it, but it feels good to talk to someone after so long. You feel calmer afterwards, and hell, you can almost forget that it’s Dirk you’re talking to. You don’t even think about him lurking in the edges of your peripheral vision, or standing silent as a spectre across from you through a makeshift campfire.  
It’s just words on a screen and the absence of that connection is something breathtaking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thanks for all the feedback, y'all. And this IS finished, but if you don't want to bear with my shitty (read: nonexistent) posting schedule, go get it from the Source: the Our Fighters the Striders Zine! It's in the SFW section, naturally, since this is basically a gen fic.

**iv.**

It’s some months and some days into your time on Earth C 2.0 (you’re being deliberately vague on time shit like that because you don’t actually need to be accurate down to the nanosecond and also because that’s kind of Dave’s thing and it’s also obnoxious in general- just because you didn’t really lose that ability when you became a sprite doesn’t mean that you have to keep the habit up), now featuring actual civilization, and everyone’s basically settled in one way or another. You’re talking houses, you’re talking being adjusted to how things are. Dirk’s weird worries about the environment seemed to be largely unfounded, since things have gone pretty well. Granted, you think that Dave let Jade off a few times to give cryptic warnings about that shit, or possibly to just spook people and have fun, but either way, things have worked out.

Cities have popped up, and they did this neat thing of dividing themselves up into different little Kingdoms. Which is cool in a weird, feudalistic, actually kingless kind of way. The Mayor came with you guys, of course. And has since assumed his rightful position as Eternal Mayor of Can Town. Dave and Karkat and Rose and Kanaya are in the Troll Kingdom doing their shit, and you think it’s kind of important and official shit, which is very fair.

(They got married. You didn’t go.)

Everyone else has split up between the more populated areas of the human and Carapacian zones (kingdoms is still a strong word even though you’re pretty sure the trolls are hailing Karkat as an emperor, and you’re not sure how he’s dealing with that one, but you pity the eardrums of anyone that actually is). With the notable exception of Dirk, Jake, and their sprite. You’re pretty sure that Jade’s the one who visits them to most, actually; it’s not like you full on talk to her or anything because she definitely does not want to see you, and you’re more than okay with this, but word gets around. But the three of them are off in the middle of fuck-nowhere, presumably having a grand old time with the Consorts while everyone- succeeds?

(Everyone that isn’t you, specifically. But it’s not exactly your fault you’re not thriving in a world that was never yours.)

So, yeah. Having homes, settling in, and most importantly, and most damningly, you’re talking socializing.

Well, you’re sure that the first two are true, but it’s the third that has you really concerned. See, you haven’t done much of it, and you’re pretty sure no one is gonna go out of their way to invite you to anything- which is great and totally fine, you’re cool with it ‘cause you don’t really want to be the spare Dave or the nth wheel on any particular outing. So it’s less that it’s expected of you, and more that the grapevine’s spat out some interesting info on the fact that Dirk and Dave are doing it. Socializing, you mean. Hanging out. Chilling. Shooting the shit.

There’s nothing inherently strange about it. On the surface. Brothers reconnecting and making amends and all that cutesy Lifetime bullshit that makes your skin crawl and your feathers ruffle up in revulsion. But you’re privy to the ugly intricacies- not that there’s really that much to it. It’s literally just the whole Dirk/Bro thing that you’ve barely managed to get your head around despite the occasional like, conversation with the guy. But it’s not like Dave is going to be super forthcoming and emotionally healthy about dealing with it, anyway. And you’re not even sure that Dirk being around would help that. Okay, well. You don’t need to be worried about it, and you know that, because you’ve seen them together. You’ve seen how Dirk tiptoes around all that steaming pile of bullshit like he’s prima ballerina (in those poofy asshole pants), especially where Dave is concerned. A fucking blind worm could tell that he gives a shit.

(Mm. Worms…)

(No.)

Obviously you’re not going to be weird and nosy about it, because that would be invasive and also dumb, but damn if you’re not curious. As far as you know, Dirk doesn’t really do socializing outside of the kids from his session- not in person, anyway. Not now that you’ve all migrated to various corners of the globe, which is a dumb expression anyway.

You haven’t seen him in person, anyway, but you’re not upset about it. Of course not. It’d be ridiculous. Especially given the way your last face-to-face encounter went, you’re pretty sure it’s for the best that y’all stick to digital communication. Something about being comfortable with each other before meeting in person sounds legit, and not like you’re being a bit fucking coward about the whole deal.

But you’re still curious, geography aside, and you are definitely going to find out how it went. You don’t even consider messaging Dave- your relationship with him is sort of strained and fragile, and you don’t even know if you want to fix it, but you don’t hesitate to pull Dirk’s name out of your contacts to bug him about it. You’re the best goddamn interrogator around, and Neophyte Redglare herself would be proud of you.

(You’ve been talking with Terezi a bit. More than you had before. More than you think Dave does, these days. You don’t really know if anything actually happened between them,  
and it’d bug you like it bugged you with Jade, but you also kind of think she’s too busy hunting down Vriska to really have time for romance. Or it’s at least plausible enough that you don’t spend ages wondering why she doesn’t like you like that, and pretending that it’s not because of the whole orange birdman deal. Okay, the whole orange creamsicle thing is still kind of weirding you out but you’re not actually sure it’s a negative in this situation. You’ll decide if/when she gets back and if/when she tries to get a bite of you.

It’s not like she actually means it like an insult; you think she’s said the same thing to Dirk. It’s down to text color rather than, uh. Bird-orange status.)

It’s not that you’re more comfortable talking to Dirk than anyone else, really, it’s just that you know that he’s equally uncomfortable about the whole conversation and also willing to bend over backwards to hide the fact. Okay, he does a good job at it, because you only know it since someone else told you, but it helps more than you thought it would.

\--- tautomericGraft [TG] started pestering timaeusTestified [TT] ---

TG: so i hear you and dave hung out today huh   
TG: how was that   
TG: what were the haps   
TG: tell me all that hot goss and spicy   
TT: It was nice.   
TG: seriously?   
TT: Yes?   
TT: I am capable of enjoying myself, you know.   
TG: and you know that’s not what i meant but damn i gotta say your newfound ability to have fun is concerning   
TT: Ah, yes. Alert the media. Dirk Strider can have fun.   
TG: the media is not only alerted, but very alarmed   
TG: klaxons are sounding all up in hq they don’t know how the fuck to take this news   
TG: the conspiracy theorists were right the world is gonna end   
TG: if you cracked a smile you know that means were all gonna die via meteor right   
TG: but if you laughed then it’s meteor carrying a deadly fuckin plague that’s like leprosy and the black death and like, the flu combined   
TG: shit man all the other plagues are gonna be jealous   
TG: their bacterial dreams crushed   
TG: how could you do this bro  
TT: Well, I have to say that it would be a nice sort of symmetry to die by meteor. Like the dinosaurs.   
TT: We’re probably due a mass extinction, anyway.  
TT: Besides, I intend to go out of this world the same way I came into it.   
TG: screaming crying and probably shitting your nappies while doing sickwicked kickflips on a burning hot hunk of rock?   
TT: Fuck yes.   
TT: Never say that I don’t bring the drama.   
TG: spill that tea sis   
TT: Wig.   
TG: ok i don’t know how to tell you how deeply disturbing that was so lets move on from it real quick   
TT: Sure, sure.   
TT: You do anything interesting today?   
TG: fuckin   
TG: not that far on   
TG: nice try mister but you’ll find that i don’t have the memory of a goldfish and i noticed that you didn’t answer my question   
TT: Damn. My carefully crafted evasive manoeuvre has failed.   
TG: ha ha very funny   
TG: im gonna ask it one more time dunkass and now i want an answer   
TG: how was hanging out with dave   
TG: the real one that is   
TG: dave prime   
TG: alpha dave   
TG: the original   
TT: Your answer is that I’m not going to be providing you with any kind of answer to that question.   
TG: what   
TG: that is so not an answer dude what the fuck   
TG: why not   
TG: is it because im fat   
TT: No, it is not because your ass is technically eight feet in circumference, if you were to loop it around.   
TT: It’s in fact entirely unrelated to any noodle-physics of your posterior.   
TG: damn that’s kind of a shame yknow   
TG: nothing gets me hotter than people calling my ass spaghetti   
TT: Assghetti.   
TG: knees weak palms sweaty   
TG: moms assghetti   
TT: How dare you talk about Roxy like that.   
TG: i   
TG: no   
TG: NO   
TG: that is not what i meant ok hot moms assghetti is off limits   
TT: Uh.   
TG: uh   
TG: i didn’t say any of that?   
TT: I’m cool with pretending a gremlin or demon briefly possessed your body and made you type that out.   
TG: thanks   
TT: Just make sure Sigmund doesn’t do it again.   
TG: fuckdammit   
TG: fine   
TT: Though I wouldn’t bet on it. He’s awfully impulsive. Ruled by the id.   
TG: will you stop   
TG: god this must be where rose gets it from   
TT: Probably.   
TT: Though I can say, with full confidence, that I never took such a strong interest in a man whose theories have been debunked over and over again.   
TG: oh yeah?   
TG: one word bro   
TG: aristotle   
TT: Shut the fuck up, one.   
TT: Two, he was a philosopher, and therefore subjective. So he could be wrong.   
TG: he was a flat earther dirk   
TG: i mean   
TG: how can you really support that   
TT: How do you know we didn’t decide to make this Earth C flat when we made it?   
TG: because that’s fuckin dumb why would you do that   
TT: Think of it this way. Dave, Roxy, and I would find it fucking hilarious. Rose would sigh, all long-suffering, but you know full well she would instigate it in the first place. Jade would want to do it to see if we could make the laws of physics suit it. Or to see if she could just defy them for this.   
TT: Realistically, Jake would want to do it so he could find the edge and throw something off it.   
TG: given his history i just do not think that is a good idea   
TT: No one does.   
TT: So Jane is, probably, the only one who would mount a genuine protest to this.   
TT: And since we are some sort of strange, group democracy, obviously the majority would win.   
TT: And that’s just how it be.   
TT: On this bitch of a flat earth.   
TG: ok well that’s flawless logic and all except for how it’s plain wrong and this earth is nice and round   
TG: and you’re distracting me again with conspiracy theories broski don’t think i didn’t notice   
TT: I could keep doing it and update you on my quest to become a cryptid.   
TG: ugh why is that so tempting   
TG: youre not even a cryptid youre just a hermit   
TG: the entire universe’s weird uncle who lives in the woods   
TG: not like the pervy weird uncle   
TT: Kind of like the pervy weird uncle.   
TG: puppets beware   
TG: fuckin yikes   
TT: Pervy for puppets, not people.   
TG: dude that’s definitely not better   
TT: Only pervy for people with consent?   
TG: youre trying real hard to make sure youre not misunderstood and i appreciate that   
TG: now stop dropping crumbs that you know are gonna get my attention and answer me   
TT: Dude, it’s not my fault everything I spit is conversational gold.   
TG: don’t even front youre an awkward weirdo whos gonna tell me about his playdate with my alternate human self  
TT: Yeah, you can definitely call me out on weird phrasing.   
TG: dirk  
TT: Okay, fine.   
TT: It was nice.   
TG: oh my goddd  
TG: you already said that  
TG: those three words were all i was able to get from you  
TT: And you’ll get the rest over my cold, dead body. Pry them out of my cold, dead hands.   
TG: couldn’t decide which one to use huh  
TT: Had it both ways.   
TT: And I don’t know what else you want me to say about it.   
TT: If you’re fishing for any particular information, you might as well lead me in that direction.   
TG: dude believe me i think it’s a goddamn miracle to get even that much but of you but now that you’ve conceded ive got a taste for power  
TG: and you cant stop me  
TT: You can have three questions.   
TG: what  
TG: that’s definitely not fair   
TG: and now how bro-ing works  
TG: why can’t i have more  
TT: Because I don’t think you need to know that much, and because there’s nothing much to know.   
TT: Also, that counts as one.   
TG: no way  
TG: i did the very clever thing and didn’t use a question mark at the end so it could just be like a real whiny statement  
TT: While I’m aware of your talent at whining, you also used a very key question word.   
TT: I could count the ‘what’ at the beginning as one too, but I’m feeling generous.   
TG: jesus fuck don’t you dare  
TG: what’s the big deal about me knowing anyway  
TT: That’s two.   
TG: yeah numbnuts i got that  
TT: Okay.   
TT: I just thought that things were still weird between the two of you, so I don’t want to gush or anything about how much fun I had.   
TG: oh   
TG: cmon dude that’s the dumbest thing ever  
TG: and you know full well id pay to hear you gush over literally anything that’s not a new power tool or a ‘softer type of felt DS holy shit it’s so amazing i want to rub it all over me’  
TT: That’s definitely not what I said.   
TG: subtext, bro  
TT: Fuck right off.   
TG: pass  
TG: but if i say that things aren’t at all weird between me and dave would you tell me  
TT: I don’t think I’d believe you, no offense.   
TG: how could that not be offensive  
TG: you callin me a liar bro  
TT: Well, I ain’t calling you a truther.   
TG: shit  
TG: i set myself up for that one huh  
TT: Left yourself wide open.   
TG: im gonna give you like two points for that meme, but only two cause i aint that easy  
TT: I would never accuse you of being easy.   
TG: good  
TG: wait  
TG: whats that supposed to mean  
TT: I feel like you’re just looking for something to get offended by, at this point.   
TG: no it just didn’t sound like you were saying it in a good way  
TG: or like a totally ironic and fully haha sarcastic way  
TG: my sniffer felt out a kernel of sincerity and damn if im not gonna get to the bottom of that  
TT: There’s no need to sink any teeth into me, then.   
TT: All I meant by it was that you’re not easy.   
TT: I’m not saying it like a bad thing, more of something I find frustrating on a personal level.   
TG: ok now i actually do need to know what you mean by that  
TG: a personal level  
TG: frustrating  
TT: Yes, frustrating.   
TT: An adjective.   
TT: Causing annoyance or upset because of an inability to change or achieve something.   
TG: fuckin  
TG: i know what it means mr thesaurus damn  
TG: like annoying i get  
TG: dunno too much about upsetting you on a personal level, unless youre talkin about how i kick your ass at mad snaxx every time  
TG: and the whole green shell deal on rainbro road   
TG: not to say you were a whole whiny bitch about it but  
TG: you were  
TT: That was in no way allowed and I’m still waiting for my appeal to be heard by the committee. You’ll be stripped of your title soon, broseph, but that beef’s for the courts to decide.   
TG: yeah and they’ll side with me and then ill sue your ass for everything you’ve got  
TG: that’s right  
TG: im gonna burn your smuppets and make you watch  
TT: Wow.   
TT: So that’s the dirty game you want to play, then.   
TT: You’d better prepare yourself.   
TG: oh im prepped and ready  
TG: in position   
TG: all you gotta do is aim and fire  
TT: You know, when I said frustrating, I didn’t mean sexually frustrated.   
TG: what  
TT: I see, we’re going to pretend like you don’t just slip into innuendo like that. Got it.   
TG: uh yeah fuckin obviously the polite thing to do is ignore my Freudian slips not try and get a goddamn panty shot up them jesus  
TG: ok so what did you actually mean if not sexually frustrated  
TG: which im not so there  
TT: I’m not getting into the hornet’s nest of your sex life, dude. Believe me.   
TT: And all I meant by it was that you can be difficult to deal with sometimes.   
TG: oh  
TG: haha yeah  
TG: i do get that a lot  
TG: aight man its been real but i gotta go be someone else’s problem rn  
TG: nothin personal but im pretty sure the mayor’s outside my place and i cant keep the guy waiting if hes here to evict me or execute me  
TG: or play monopoly since it actually looks like hes holding a board there  
TG: later bro  
\--- tautomericGraft [TG] has ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] ---

You turn your phone on its face almost immediately, and then pry off the little finger pads you have to wear so you can use the touch screen with your dumb stupid bird hands. You want to fling them into a corner, but they’re squishy and bouncy and you’ll literally never find them in the jungle of your room again if you do, so you settle for shoving them into the drawer of your nightstand.

The Mayor is very obviously not at your door, but you kind of wish the lil dude was. Can Town’s a masterpiece these days, and even though you only live on the outskirts, in what used to be the original settlement, you’re still part of this town, dammit. Fuck gentrification and all that. But the Mayor’s also a busy dude, and he can’t be visiting all his constituents all the time. Especially not ones that can’t vote for him. Or don’t? You’ve never really tried to shoehorn in on that election action, you figure that there’s no way in hell anyone would try and run against him- and so far this is true- so the whole process is basically a sham.

Which is funny in its own way if you’re in the right mood for it, but now it’s just kind of depressing because everything is now pointless and depressing. You really wish you hadn’t started that conversation.

(You really kind of wish that Dirk hadn’t gone to hang out with Dave, but that’s a shitty wish that you’re not going to think too hard about right now, in addition to everything else. You’re not going to get stupid jealous of this- obviously you don’t have a monopoly on Dirk’s time, or his attention, but you’re pretty sure the whole thing wouldn’t have been weird if he hadn’t done that. Not to mention the fucked up way he was trying to be considerate about it, like he was somehow doing you a favour by not telling you. What a fucking crock of bullshit.)

Difficult to deal with. Yeah, join the club, jackass.  
-


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fool ass completely forgot to post this one before DS and Dave's conversation. Christ.

You wouldn’t say that you’re outright avoiding Dirk. For one, it’d be laughably easy, given that you don’t think he actually has your address, and from what you know of him, he doesn’t go out that much anyway.

(Unless it comes to hanging out with Dave, something ugly in you says. Then he’ll drop everything, because Dave’s the one everyone loves. Dave’s the one that everyone wants. Not the leftover side-effects of the game.)

But you’re making a conscious effort to not respond to his messages. You’re also employing some truly desperate hope that he’s not going to call you out on it or try to do anything in person- and it seems to be holding, so thank Jake English and his thick, round, apparently extremely praise-worthy ass for that. And if a small, tiny part of you is actually kind of disappointed that he doesn’t give enough shits about you to actually come try and talk in person, then you don’t need to dwell on it too much.

You can tell yourself that Dirk will give up eventually, decide like everyone else has that you’re not worth more than a token effort. Doesn’t really change the fact that a part of you wants him to keep trying. It’s shitty, how you want

You still read them, obsessive and masochistic, but that’s normal. Probably. It would be way less pathetic if PesterChum or Trollian had employed some kind of read receipts system. Then it’d be deliberately ghosting him, which is a lot more flattering in general. You want him to see that you’ve seen his messages, you’re just choosing to ignore them. You would suggest that to Dirk, but you’re not talking to him. You’d suggest it to Roxy, via literally anyone else, but you’re not actually sure they’d remember. And you’re not really sure about talking to her, still. Less because of the hot mom thing now, and more because it’s fucking awkwardly late to just jump into a conversation, like hey how are you what’s up we literally never spoke before even though we had loads of time but I guess I want to get to know you now so yeah.

Big fucking yikes.

Anyway, you think your campaign of ignoring him and being smug about it (well, maybe not that last part) is a total, resounding success. And you’re so wrapped up in sweet, sweet victory, that you manage to completely fucking forget that _he knows where you live_.

The knock on your door is weird enough by any means, but you, for an unknown reason, assume it’s just another Carapacian puttering about trying to sell their pumpkin-based wares. Which is weird, but apparently that was a thing on the post-apocalyptic Earth, if you aren’t being lied to. If not, they’ve just sort of picked up gourd farming in a weird, endearing way, and the least you can do is pitch in on the local pumpkin economy and buy a few of whatever it is. You’re still filthy rich from the LOHACSE, you’re swimming in boonies you don’t even know what to do with. You could get a gold-plated toilet. Or a real gold toilet, and it’d be ironic as fuck. Like Duchamp, except better, given your general ghostly biology. You can eat, but you don’t ever think too hard about what happens when you do, because that leads to a genuine and deep fear that your entire abode is covered in your own ghostly birdshit, which is just not a pleasant train of thought.

You’re still trying to shudder out of that carriage and onto something more pumpkin based when you open the door, already fishing for your wallet. You’d drop it, if you actually managed to find it, when you finally look up to see Dirk Strider standing right in front of you. In the flesh and looking distinctly closed-off and uncomfortable. It’s an unpleasant shock to your system, and you gape at him for a solid ten seconds before he gets sick of it and gives you a sort of pointed look through his shades. You still don’t know what that one means.

“You gonna invite me in or not?” He asks, and wow, you’ve got an eyebrow raise out of him. That’s gotta count for something, even if something is you being a rude-ass bitch and just staring.

“Uh. What’re you gonna do if I choose not?” you say, crossing your arms. “’Cause I was fully expecting some sweet gourd art or snacks as bribery, and yet here you are, empty handed. If you don’t know the password, you better have something to pay off the guard, dawg.”

He surprises you by tossing over a packet of roasted pumpkin seeds, which definitely do not make your mouth water. Huh.

“No wonder you’re getting so uppity with the bribe money, those lil guys have gone and raised your standards,” he observes. You hover back a scant few inches, wondering if his aversion to contact will stop him from actually coming in.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t. A goddamn freight train couldn’t stop Dirk if it ran him over ten times. Which is a gross and surprisingly grisly death.

Either way, you’re not entirely sure how he manages to slip in without brushing up against you, or how he does whatever ungodly shimmy or spider crawl along the ceiling to manage it so quickly, but he does. He’s standing a good four feet away from you once actually inside, and staring still.

Belatedly, you shut the door.

“Come on in. Make yourself at home, you know where the couch is and all that.” You don’t try to curb any non-existent enthusiasm. You watch him pad silently over to the couch, and the wrongness of him in your space hasn’t quite diminished. It’s made weirder by how unobtrusive he actually is; Dirk slots neatly into the end of the couch farthest from you, pressed as far up against the arm of it as he can go without actually sitting on it. You get the impression that he’d be far more comfortable standing in the corner. He’s very still, but there’s a restless energy to him that in turn starts to make you kind of twitchy.

Your talons make very short work of the bag for the seeds, and you’re quick to start fishing them out. If your chewing is obnoxiously loud and offensive to him (it is both loud, and you’re pretty sure it’s offensive- Bro hated it when you chewed with your mouth open, it was one of the few times you saw him visibly tense up and could trace the source to something other than instinct), he doesn’t actually say it. He does tense, and the familiarity is like a goddamn suckerpunch to the gut. You have to look away.

“So,” you finally prompt, after what feels like an eternity of silence but is actually thirty excruciating seconds. You’re liking having Dirk in your personal space less and less, because he’s looking around. It’s not actually intrusive, but you don’t know what he’s thinking and that’s setting you on edge. It’s his first time actually in your little house, you’re realizing, and you’re also realizing that it’s a mess. You should clean, holy shit. You know that he’s noticing the little downy feathers stuck everywhere, the mass of takeout containers living on the table, the walls that are decorated with sweet fuck-all because you haven’t found posters shitty enough for it. You see it as something comfortable, something you’re in the process of making a home. But to him, you’re pretty sure it’s incomplete, dingy and ugly and disgusting. It makes your stomach turn again.

“So,” he echoes, a second delayed. He finally turns to look at you, tilting his head just enough that you notice it. “I thought I should drop by. Haven’t seen your crib yet, and you did an excellent impression of vanishing off the face of the earth. Thought I should get some tips the next time I need to avoid Jane trying to mother me in between intense bursts of whatever company activity she has going on. The One Ring is out, as far as invisibility goes, so your method will have to do.”

You get that he’s joking, but you’re uneasy enough that you take it the wrong way. He’s calling you out in the most fucking passive-aggressive petty way you can think of, and frankly, it’s shitty.

“Iunno man, while you studied the blade, I studied the dark arts, so I don’t know how well you’re gonna pick this one up,” you say. Your voice is pretty even, which is good; you’d hate it even more if he knew how much you’d gotten off on the wrong foot here.

“I’m a quick learner,” he answers with a casual shrug. “Don’t worry too hard about it, sensei.”

“I prefer sir, you fuckin’ weeb.” And here’s another thing that’s weird for you- how easy it is to fall into bullshit banter with him, your mouth just running on autopilot. Okay, that’s what it does most of the time, but with Dirk it’s especially good at just going.

“A man of authority, huh,” he says, except he manages to make it sound mocking and condescending and faintly amused all at once. For a dude who speaks in total monotone, you have no idea how he manages that.

“Damn straight, I’m the dude all the other teachers are scared of. The one the students never wanna have, ‘cause he’ll kick their asses with a fuckton of homework.”

“As someone who never went to school, pretend I just nodded along with that. It’s a specific experience.”

“Not that specific.”

“I think being completely ignored by you with no way of explanation when things seemed to be going fine counts as a specific experience.”

Well, shit. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I wasn’t ignoring you, and even if I was, you’re not exactly good at taking the hint there.” You’re calm as fuck right now, like a placid lake. You’re what meditation gurus aspire to be.

“I guess not. But if I did something wrong, it’d be ideal to know what it was. Y’know, so as not to do it again.” There’s something different in his voice, like he’s making the decision to be casual about it. When you look at him, you see that he’s staring intently at the wall, a little divot of a frown between his eyebrows. His fingers are digging into the dumb ironic throw pillow he’s tugged into his lap, like it belongs there.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say, automatically. It doesn’t even sound believable to your own ears.

“So you just decided you were done with me, and that was that. Gotta say, bro, that’s not much better even if it absolve me of a whole lot of blame.” You’re not sure whether he wants to hear if he fucked up or not- because seriously, who does?- but it sounds like he’s needling you to get to it, and damn if you don’t hate it.

You decide not to dignify that with an answer, instead keeping your lips pressed tight together. You want him out, you don’t want to have this conversation. You literally never want to have this conversation.

“More of the cold shoulder, huh,” and wow, he’s just continuing to talk. It’s like he doesn’t even see how you’re simmering, but the worse alternative is that he does, he’s just ignoring it to wind you up. “Y’know, I thought about it for a while. I didn’t even want to tell you that I’d been hanging with Dave, since I knew you were gonna feel some kind of way about it. To say the least.”

“Well, I don’t, so you thought wrong. Sorry to take away whatever brag you’ve been doing about being a Davesprite whisperer, dude, but them’s the breaks.”

“Sure, sure,” he drawls out. Patronizing. “Gotta say, it’s immature as all hell to pretend that you’re not bothered, and worse that you’re shitty at faking it.”

“I’m shitty at faking it ‘cause I ain’t faking it,” you say. “Obviously. If I’m bothered by anything, it’s the fact that you just straight up dropped on my doorstep to fuck with me, which is a steaming pile of bullshit, just so you know. Jot that one down for future reference in whatever fuckin’ file you’ve got on me in your head.”

“Jesus, you make it sound like I’m fuckin’ stalking you.”

“Might be. Ain’t ever told you where I live,” you grumble, mutinous.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s so hard to come to Can Town and ask literally anyone where you are. Sure that qualifies as stalking.”

“Oh, god, the hardship you must’ve gone through to talk to a single person.” You’re rolling your eyes so hard behind your shades there.

“Clearly, I shouldn’t have bothered,” he says, and Dirk’s the one sounding a little bothered now. You’ve gotten under your skin, and you shouldn’t feel so powerful and proud of it, but here you are. He’s fucking _bothered_ , and enough that you can tell it.

“Fuckin’ obviously,” you tell him. You’re caught up on the high of victory there, and it’s a dangerous place to be, teetering on the edge like that with Dirk coiling tighter with tension by the second. “Since I’m too much trouble, what’s the point even talking to me and hunting me down, huh? ‘Cause that’s the thing I can’t figure out.”

You know almost instantly that it’s the wrong thing to say, and you can’t take it back. The tension in the room spikes for a moment, and Dirk’s looking at you full on and so much like Bro that you can’t take it, all predatory and ready to strike now that you’ve shown an instant of weakness. Fuck, fuck, if you only still had time powers you’d rewind in a heartbeat, you hate this.

You float backwards, a fraction of an inch, and you’re too caught up in the sick beat of your heart to notice how he hesitates. But you do notice the quiet instead of speaking, and that just ratchets it all up further. You swear you can feel the dust in the place settle on your feathers, and you ruffle them out on instinct. You hate doing it in front of anyone, you know it makes you look like a giant goddamn puffball twice your size, but for now, you find comfort in the fact that half your face is hidden in the mass of neon orange softness.

“I’m here,” he starts, and his voice is so, so soft that it still makes you flinch, “because even if you’re a pain in the ass to deal with, I still give a shit. And if I did something wrong by you, fucking sue me for wanting to know what it was. It’s not that hard to pick up the fucking phone and tell me, either, because I distinctly recall asking you several times before I even decided that getting the drop on you was the only way to actually get an answer.”

You wouldn’t know about that- you haven’t even looked at the messages. You just waited for them to peter off like you knew they would, set it on silent and just fuckin’ stayed off PesterChum this entire time. There’s a huge knot caught in your throat, and you couldn’t talk around it even if you wanted to.

“Well, it was a dick move anyway,” you croak out. You’re not sure which is lamer- the fact that ‘dick move’ was the worst you could come up with, or the weakness in your voice. “Just fuckin’, barging in like that. And you can just quit pretending to care, too, dude. I fuckin’ get it, you’re on some hellacious quest for self-improvement and all that but trust me, I got shit all to do with it and wanna keep it that way.”

“I’m not pretending to care,” he says, immediately. Damn, you hate that he sounds confident enough that you want to believe him. “And I ain’t pretending that this isn’t tangentially related to my, uh, ‘hellacious quest for self-improvement and all that’. It is, just like the way I’m hanging out with Dave is. It’s,” he pauses here, frowning very slightly. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, the pain sharp and stinging. “He told me what your Bro was like, and that’s not a future I’m going to allow myself to have. And it’s not as hard as you think it is to give a shit about you, either. You’re my bro, in a weird, roundabout way.”

That’s what breaks you. Not the pestering, not the fact that he’s shown up or the subtle associations you were making with Bro, but the mention of the man himself. Like Dirk has any goddamn right to tell you that he’s your bro, or you’re his, or that any happy family bullshit is remotely possible at this point. He just- he doesn’t fucking get it, and it makes you so angry and frustrated you want to rip your hair out.

“You’re not my fucking brother, and I don’t want you to be. I don’t actually need you to be- no one needs that shit, I mean, Jesus, Dirk, who’s gonna take advice from a guy who managed to fuck up literally all his meaningful relationships in the span of like three months or however long you were in the game for? Not me, that’s for sure, I ain’t no sucker and you’re not dragging me down into your endless goddamn bullshit,” you finally, _finally_ snap at him. It’s the bursting of a bubble, the ripping of an elastic band stretched too thin. Snapping back and whipping at the fingers that held it. “I’m not your responsibility if that’s what you’re thinking- I ain’t someone else you gotta try and build up into something you like, thanks, and we all know that didn’t work out great the first time-,” you stop, sneering deliberately. It’s the most emotion you’ve let yourself show around him, and your heart is pounding this awful, sick beat in your throat, but you can’t stop talking. You’ve been quiet for too long, and now it’s bubbling out like magma, all that shit you’ve refused to deal with. You’d feel sorry for him, maybe, if it wasn’t his fucking fault to begin with. “But here I am, telling you to lay the fuck off me, get off my back, stop riding my dick, all that jazz. I might straight up develop claustrophobia because of you, and let me tell you, that’d be a fucking new one. So- whatever fuckin’ pity-party you’re trying to throw here ain’t gonna pan out. I’m not buying what you’re selling, I’m beyond uninterested, and I’d have thought you’d get the hint by now, but nope, Dirk Strider the great genius doesn’t know a damn thing about when someone doesn’t wanna fuckin’ talk to him, so here we are. Whatever you’re trying to do here, you need to just- stop. Stop, and get the fuck out, and just, don’t come back, okay?”

You’re nearly screaming by the end of it, your chest heaving with exhaustion and the almost manic energy that’s keeping it at bay.

And, miracle of all miracles, he does.

The silence stretches out between the two of you, and you realize that you’re breathing heavily, that your face feels hot and that your feathers are bristling- not like he needed any other evidence to see that you’re worked up about all this bullshit.

You don’t know how to describe his reaction- and when you think about it later, you still won’t be able to. The best you can say is that his face just shutters. You can see him press his lips together, deliberate. Like he’s choking off any words that he might say, and you find yourself stupidly grateful for that, because whatever it is? You don’t want to hear it. You’re sick of it. 

You’re sick of everyone thinking of you like just another Dave, or a worse Dave, or just a shitty bygone that’s somehow still here. A footnote that’s scribbled out in the final draft, just waiting for oblivion. Or maybe you’re just the draft itself, you’re not sure which is worse. But you’re sick of it being that way. All the relief you get from lashing out at Dirk- because it feels good in this sick, awful way, to let some of it out, let the pressure off, but that’s not even the half of it- doesn’t even have the courtesy to last. You’re still keyed up, the back of your throat stinging and a weight heavy on your chest, and your eyes are fixed on the wall because you don’t even want to look at him because you’ll lose your shit even worse, and god knows you’re itching to just lay into him.

You want to know why the fuck he won’t leave you alone, what is it about you that’s so pathetic, so pitiful (platonically, you’re too much of a fucking mess for a troll to even want to touch your red quadrant with a ten foot pole), that it makes him want to _fix_ you. The fact that it’s _him_ makes it a thousand times worse- you know damn well that you’re fucked up, but having Dirk treat you like his newest pet project is another thing entirely. God, the whole thing just makes you want to vomit all over the place. You nearly do, bile rising bitter in your throat, and your stomach convulsing. He’s still not said anything, and the tension is unbearable for you. You can’t bring yourself to regret- any of it, really. You know, you _know_ you’re going to hate yourself for it later, because god, how fucking embarrassing can you get, how much of an asshole can you be, but not right now.

Almost as soon as it came, the energy’s gone, the tide has ebbed and you’re just wreckage on the beach all over again. You nearly keel over, that’s how drained you are, even if you’re still strung out. You close your eyes behind your shades.

You vacantly notice the sound of a door closing, it filters through the air like cotton. Your throat feels raw like you’ve been screaming, but you haven’t. You’re not a fucking kid, you’re not going to cry over this. You’re not bothered at all.

The couch is too soft beneath you, like it’s ready to swallow you up, like it’s made of a marshmallow except the marshmallow is into vore. The room is too hot, too humid, it feels like you’re inside a giant mouth all of a sudden and even though the window is open you feel like you’re suffocating. And the entire vore imagery abyss your brain’s decided to shove you into is seriously not helping it. At all.

A tearing sound, sick and ripping, as your claws sink into the fabric of the couch. It’s ugly as fuck, you feel shittier for having done it but it’s not like you can sew it up or get someone else to fix it and the couch doesn’t really deserve having all that shit piled onto it ‘cause it’s just a couch, really. The noise replays itself again, and again, in your head, echoing in the empty room.

There’s bile burning at the back of your throat, and you can barely breathe around the knot in it.


	6. Chapter 6

v.

It’s been nearly three months since you’ve talked to Dirk.

Since the last argument, that is- though you’re not even sure if it counts as a fight or anything like that, since that would’ve required some kind of resistance on his part. Any kind of disagreement, after you started shouted him down. It still makes you nauseous to think about for too long. 

And, y’know, this isn’t a weird thing or a bad thing, and you know full well that it’s a thing you would have wanted ages ago. You tell yourself to be happy he’s not bothering you anymore, but you can’t even fuckin’ fool yourself. Rose would say that she never thought the day would come, when the Strider propensity for self-delusion ran dry. Your Rose, not the one here. They’re not the same, no matter how much anyone thinks that you can just exchange one for the other and it’ll be fine- you know that better than anyone, thanks. 

You haven’t tried to talk to him, either. But you also don’t really think that you should. You tell yourself that if he wanted to anything to do with you, you’d know about it, because the guy’s not exactly subtle. And since you don’t know about it, you’ve clearly managed to get him to stop. He listened. Of course, that makes you feel like a bigger asshole, but hey. He listened. 

(And you know full well that you were pressing all the buttons that said ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, just smacking at them wildly to see what stuck, but it doesn’t matter. He stopped.)  
It kind of fucking sucks that you regret ever saying it, though. It’s quiet as fuck, without his messages to bug you. It’s- not lonely, you know what loneliness is, and this doesn’t come close, but it’s just an endless cycle of you thinking about it and then feeling shitty and then feeling shittier for avoiding the whole thing. Maybe it’s not that you’re regretting it, just that the way it happened. If there had been a way for him to fuck off without you having a complete meltdown for the next week after it, you think that would have been ideal. That’s something that you can believe, at least. 

Maybe you just got too used to talking to him, aside from the entire avoidance thing on your part, and now what you’re pretty sure is avoidance on his. Which is a load of bullshit, really. Maybe you’re also pissed that now he’s the one not talking to you, instead of the other way around. Like he should still give a damn, even though you basically set the bridge on fire with him still trying to cross it. Which is another load of bullshit, but either way. It’s different from before. The shoe on the other foot, the turns have tabled, and you’re a fucking idiot who’s been in an increasingly shitty mood over absolutely nothing. Congratulations, you played your own damn self.

You’ve been toying with the idea of talking to someone else, at least trying to find out what he’s been up to. Actually, it’s more accurate but less cool to say that you’ve been agonizing over it and finally settled on deciding to ask Dave, because you think that while it would be weird, it would be a whole lot weirder to ask anyone else. And- not to say that you’re fully able to blame Dave for the whole fight thing, but you do think that if they were hanging out then, they’d still be now. Obviously Dirk’s found one of you a lot easier to deal with than the other. That, you’re willing to admit you might be slightly resentful of, given that you and your human counterpart have spent a solid 80% of your time coexisting completely ignoring one another.

It doesn’t hurt, of course. Why should it? You’re honestly happy to not see him, or only talk to him on occasion when you absolutely have to. But you think that’s pretty fuckin’ decent, given how badly you could be getting along. So while you’re dithering and dathering and playing a game of ‘Will I, Won’t I’, you knew right from the second you even thought about it, that you’d end up swallowing your pride and asking Dave for help. You- don’t think Dirk would’ve said anything to him. You hope he hasn’t. Dave doesn’t really need more of an ego boost about being the Real Thing or the clear favorite- not that it matters, you’re pretty sure you were never in contention of that from Dirk, but a small, jealous part of you whispers that you might have been, those months you spent with Bro. 

Still.

It takes you three entire days of deliberation before you finally realize that yes, you are desperate enough to know, and yes, you do want some kind of human interaction, and no, Dave is (probably) not going to mock you endlessly. The worst that can happen is that it degrades into a round of infinite, passive-aggressive horseshit, but you don’t got the time for that. You’re there for one thing, get in, get out, like Bond. Name’s Bond. Sprite, Dave Sprite. God, why does that actually have a good ring to it?

TG: hey   
TG: uh hey man   
TG: something up?    
TG: what i cant talk to my one and only twin but also kind of clone for old times sake?    
TG: well yeah you can but you haven’t so i mostly figured there was something going on there   
TG: granted my guess was a nakkodile-related emergency but damn if im not ready to bust into a kitchen and fish you out of a soup pot   
TG: honestly dude im not sure i could survive the embarrassment of that one   
TG: theyd have to pluck me first   
TG: shit dude   
TG: youre right   
TG: don’t think my eyes could handle your weird, naked, featherless body   
TG: yeah dude the feathers are really the best part of it   
TG: don’t know how you handle looking in the mirror every day and realizing youre only like skin and shades and clothes   
TG: it’s a hard knock life man what can i say   
TG: but im nothing if not dedicated   
TG: persevering through adversity all up in this bitch like its nbd   
TG: making catharsis look calm af

You can tell he’s been talking to Dirk. Catharsis isn’t exactly a word that’s in your shared vocabulary, after all. Okay, well, you know what it means now and you would’ve looked it up before, but it’s not like you would’ve said it.

TG: damn dude you’re an inspiration to us all what can I say   
TG: i know i know ill take a goddamn bow and head right on out to grab that cheque   
TG: check?    
TG: fuck the English language amirite   
TG: dude we could literally change it so much but rose didn’t let me leave any shitty cuss word graffiti carved into a rock to be thought of as super profound or anything   
TG: im p sure she left some shit of her own behind but whatever   
TG: the lalonde way is sometimes one of glaring hypocrisy dude and us striders just gotta live with it   
TG: aint like we don’t have some glaring hypocrisy of our own i guess?    
TG: what the fuck is that supposed to mean   
TG: ok calm down dude you don’t need to get all defensive   
TG: im not defensive just like   
TG: came here to have a good time and honestly feeling so attacked right now   
TG: the power of the meme is strong within you   
TG: honestly itd be p cool to belong to the meme jedi but then wed need an anakin of some kind and i don’t think anyones ready for that    
TG: you think hed betray yall by posting old longcat and trollface memes   
TG: jesus   
TG: gross   
TG: ugh yeah sorry   
TG: should not have said that one cause now im picturing it and i gotta say   
TG: i like the whole surrealistic nonsene meme culture   
TG: oh same   
TG: not that the cats were bad   
TG: saying that real loud for the lalondes in the back   
TG: and nepeta wherever she might be    
TG: :3   
TG: ok that’s enough crediting her thanks   
TG: don’t make that face at me   
TG: put your mouth back into a straight line before you hurt yourself   
TG:[ you aint my mom you cant tell me what to do with my mouth   
TG: yeah but that shit-terrifying episode of spongebob with the face freeze sure can   
TG: …ok   
TG: just this once   
TG: you make a point   
TG: not that i could get uglier but that was straight up traumatizing dude holy shit   
TG: yeah man dirk has way too much fun showing us the like, best/worst shit we missed from history and it’s a little weird   
TG: like ok some of the movies got real good ill admit   
TG: and the memes?    
TG: youre gonna have to imagine me kissing my fingers and flicking them up like im a happy italian chef who just nutted over how good his pasta sauce was   
TG: tmi but i get it    
TG: thanks bro   
TG: yeah no problem   
TG: tbh your reaction is probably the best bit for him    
TG: hmm   
TG: what   
TG: hmmmmmmm   
TG: what??    
TG: hmmmmmmmmmmm   
TG: dude   
TG: just thinkin real hard about whether or not my ectobro would go that far to fuck me over and then realizing that no i don’t need to think that hard about it he just has a real weird way of upping his pranksters gambit   
TG: but then again its like look who hes competing against yknow   
TG: janes fuckin devious   
TG: (johns hot mom that is)    
TG: (i know who she is)    
TG: ok just makin sure   
TG: also this is where you chime in with some fun stories    
TG: y’all have been hanging out n shit   
TG: well we were   
TG: oh   
TG: wait is that what you wanted to ask me about   
TG: i mean yeah but i wasn’t gonna be shitty about it   
TG: like basically he pissed me off and im pretty sure i pissed him off and we just    
TG: haven’t spoken   
TG: at all   
TG: like hes elusive and all but were at the stage where if he was dead i wouldn’t hear about it until 10 years later and by then the funerals already happened and im written out of the will   
TG: that’s uh   
TG: that’s sure something   
TG: a shitty something for sure   
TG: gee thanks for sugarcoating it   
TG: yknow me bro im all for keepin it real   
TG: but seriously   
TG: what has this got to do with me   
TG: and legit i mean that in the least offensive way possible cause hes prickly as fuck about shit he doesn’t wanna talk about and youre like   
TG: also prickly as fuck when it comes down to it    
TG: but im no lalonde bro im not ready to stick my nose into that pile of snakes   
TG: is that meant to be a saying or   
TG: im working on it ok   
TG: work harder dude im not even sure snakes can form a pile?    
TG: then the fireant hill from Indiana jones 4 are you goddamn happy now thinking about those giant fat-ass ants that devoured like 10 men whole   
TG: jesus it definitely aint that bad   
TG: gotta be if youre even bringing it up   
TG: look   
TG: what   
TG: bitch   
TG: uh huh   
TG: im just sayin that i aint entirely sure why youre asking me or what it is im meant to be doing to help is all   
TG: actually scratch that i don’t think you even asked me anything   
TG: i didn’t so yknow that’s what they say about assuming things   
TG: they say a lot of shit about assuming things and yet i do it anyway   
TG: your move sonny   
TG: although if youre gonna ask if he and i have been hanging out the answer is still yes? like i can put in a good word or something but i definitely aint gonna be able to make the guy come back on his knees begging for forgiveness    
TG: im not sure anyone would but he basically fuckin worships the ground you walk in so it could be you is all im saying   
TG: nah man thatd be English except it’s the ass   
TG: …can we not talk about his interest in jakes ass   
TG: you brought it up   
TG: yeah and i feel you raring to go off on that tangent   
TG: fuck right off i wouldn’t be getting off on that tangent   
TG: dude   
TG: shit   
TG: it’s a nice ass and lets just box that up and ignore it forever yeah   
TG: best thing to do yeah   
TG: even considering kinkshaming him is playing with fire    
TG: it’s a dangerous game we play bro   
TG: real talk im too scared to know what his kinks are   
TG: ok but like what if its all a show and hes super fuckin vanilla   
TG: yeah but do you really wanna know for real   
TG: i mean   
TG: one word dude, and that is smuppets   
TG: ok   
TG: ok youre right no one vanilla could come up with that holy shit   
TG: nightmare ass monsters   
TG: fuckin yikes   
TG: but uh   
TG: about putting a good word in or whatever   
TG: man you know i cant like make him forgive you or make you forgive him   
TG: but imma let you in on a tiny lil secret here yeah   
TG: and you didn’t hear it from me so keep that in mind   
TG: he would 100% be ok with y’all being chummy again   
TG: honest   
TG: like you’ve definitely spoken to him more but iunno if anyone could be considered a like dirk whisperer or anything cause that seems to be kinda extreme   
TG: i mean   
TG: he just left   
TG: im assuming you told him to go?    
TG: ok yes   
TG: look   
TG: and this is realer than i usually ever get to keep it so you better savor this shit   
TG: dude’s had hella issues in the past cause he didn’t listen    
TG: so if you told him to leave and you looked like you were losing your shit   
TG: didn’t go that far   
TG: you didn’t need to say it   
TG: anyway if that was what went down im p sure the dots connected in his head and he decided to not stay and make shit worse, especially if he pissed you off in the first place   
TG: aint to say that he couldn’t have dragged his head outta his ass and talked to you sooner tho but that’s just how he is yknow   
TG: its not like bro cause bro didn’t really care   
TG: or, didnt want to show it properly? some days its kinda hard to decide which to believe   
TG: but hes so careful with me- and you, maybe, before all that went down   
TG: like if i told him i never wanted to see him again you damn well know that i wouldn’t even catch a whisper of his existence   
TG: except i might not even say it but hed end up thinking it and thinking it was the best thing to do, and then just doing it?    
TG: now im just maudlin

He is. But you kind of think that you get it. 

TG: ugh   
TG: this means i gotta be the bigger person doesn’t it   
TG: suck it up buttercup   
TG: all you gotta do is let him know youre not like, seething with hatred and despair and holding a knife to stab him in the eye with   
TG: if i wanted to stab him in the eye id just bop him one in the shades and theyd do the job   
TG: not at all disturbing that you’ve thought of that   
TG: course not   
TG: i just

You pause, your thoughts stilling for a moment. You close your eyes behind the lenses of the iShades, the screen and its cursor blinking out of existence for a moment. You’ve never wanted Dave to see you vulnerable- you hate it with anyone else, but it’s worse with him somehow. But you’ve played your hand here already, haven’t you?  
You’re already asking him for help. He’s already given advice, which was weirdly wise, and not really what you’d have expected. Dave’s grown up and apart from you, and you- don’t know what to do with it. Jesus, you might even be proud of him, what the fuck does that even mean.

You thought that you’d feel some kind of way about it, actually. Relief, at the thought, maybe, when you’d first turned. You couldn’t wait for him to change and be a different Dave, but you were the one who changed the most. Resentment, afterwards, when you’d accepted that you were just the shitty B-movie version of him, complete with ugly costume. When you’d started to define yourself based on what he was, and what you weren’t. Jesus, you didn’t cope well with that at all. But you’re pretty sure that there’s no good way to cope with suddenly being turned into an orange bird thing after being ripped out of your own world. Go figure. 

Damn, by that metric you’ve almost made some progress. Holy shit, alert the media. 

TG: i want to make things ok between us i guess   
TG: me and him   
TG: and technically me and you but i feel like we’re managing alright on that one   
TG: ha yeah dude no catastrophic emotional disasters yet   
TG: can you believe it   
TG: karkats givin me the stinkeye for being in bed and on my phone when the light’s off but shit was important to deal with   
TG: however shit is dealt with and neither of us want him getting shouty so   
TG: no worries bro   
TG: get some shuteye   
TG: aye aye

You’re smiling a little, when you sign off PesterChum for the night. You need to get some fucking sleep, for one, and you’re pretty sure Dave’s halfway passed out already. Hope’s a terrible, fragile thing blooming inside you, and you feel like thinking too hard about it will shatter it entirely. But it’s there, and you feel like things can be okay. 

And whatever sappy bullshit they say about things being better in the morning, it doesn’t stop you from typing out a quick message to Dirk and hitting send like some kinda coward, before almost instantly passing out. It’s a good thing you’re so tired; you’d be too anxious about it to sleep otherwise. 

But yeah, that’s a problem for future Davesprite, poor fucker that he is. You? Already have something you’re working on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally all written already, I'm just so lazy. But don't worry, I'm posting and writing shit as part of this quarantine period, which- no one has really asked me to do, but do I care? No.

You message Dirk for the first time, the next day. You’ve gotten some sleep, even though you were halfway to psyching yourself out and had to pop a Tylenol PM or whatever the Earth C equivalent of it is to actually crash, but you don’t regret it in the morning. You’re fucking well-rested, you feel like you could take on the goddamn world. What you’re actually going to do is somehow much harder than all that. Well, it shouldn’t be, and part of you is pretty sure Dave went right ahead and talked to Dirk and sort of steamrollered ‘don’t be a smug jackass about this’ into the guy’s head, which would be great. But that doesn’t change the fact that if you wore pants you would be shitting them right now. Also, if you could shit, you would be shitting them right now.

So all of that is only going on metaphorically, and you’re just sitting there like a jackass waiting for something to come up in response to your pathetic little ‘hey’. You’d thought that ‘hi’ was way too timid, and too casual, and ten minutes later you’re still on the verge of adding ‘we need to talk’ for both ironic and actual reasons. Might as well check off all the clichés, even if that one’s just inviting a smartass response.

TT: Hey.

Oh, shit. An answer. It’s literally the answer that gives you the least clue as to what’s going on in his head, except maybe he’s kind of okay since he’s actually messaged you back. Yeah. You’re not that much of an optimist.

TG: hey dude  
TT: You said that already. 

You- sure have. God. Fuck.

TG: ha yeah sure dude dude   
TG: good catch distri gotta keep you on your toes there

You can literally feel the contempt in the three little ‘he’s typing’ bubbles that pop up. Which is real fucking valid- you know you sound like a moron, and he’s sure taking his time. You’re guessing that Dirk’s trying to figure out how to ask what the fuck is wrong with you, but like, in some kind of eloquent way that’s cutting and smart and cool. Whatever. You can tolerate that. You’re not going to get mad, you’re just here to tell him that it’d be cool if y’all patched things up, and that you’re not going to be a fucking dickhead about his relationship with Dave.

TT: Yeah, well. Consider me in perfect en pointe, ready to execute some primo ballerina bullshit.   
TG: okay well that might be kind of a lot even though you do got the godtier tights for it  
TG: anyway  
TG: woke up this morning for a hankering of some strider company what dyou think

You are a master of casualness, and you’re laying it on real thick as you try not to fucking panic, because you know he’s not buying what you’re trying to sell. Because it’s the lamest fucking thing ever. Dirk’s being terse and you at least think that this would be a thousand times worse in person, and you hate that you can’t just show up to his place and shout that you’re sorry at him. It’d be overblown, idiotic, and dramatic, but hell, it’d be the most effective thing. You could even hide in the trees or something afterwards, wouldn’t that be great?

You kind of hate that you’re too much of a fucking coward to even think about doing that. But you remind yourself about what Dave said. Dirk’s not fully unwilling to like, patch shit up between you two. All he has to do is not be a huge, petty asshole about it. So basically, you’re doomed.

TT: No offense, but I think it’s bullshit. 

Okay, you kind of deserve that. You try and swallow down around the huge lump in your throat.

TG: well i guess you can go ahead and think that cause thought crime aint a thing just yet but wait for it dude they’re gonna be coming after you for it real soon   
TT: Yeah, I bet you’re ready to jump right down my throat for all the thoughts you think I’ll be having, once you’re allowed to do it.   
TG: look man you’re inviting it with the whole horse fixation i mean youre begging to be kinkshamed and if that’s my lot in life? i can deal with that  
TT: Okay. Right. That makes total sense.   
TT: I will admit that it feels on brand of you to ghost me, then pop back into existence with the sole intention of kinkshaming me.   
TT: Brooklyn 99 put it best. You are the Nostradamus of my shame.   
TG; god don’t you think i wish i was andy samberg and also that my only experience with that wasnt like bootleg copies from roxys laptop and also yours  
TT: It’s an experience, for sure.   
TT: But before we get distracted discussing the nuances of it, I do need to know.   
TT: Why exactly are you messaging me?   
TT: You definitely didn’t leave anything at my place, you’ve never been there. I also have not stolen anything of yours, so there’s that, too.   
TG: all of those things are true and real but uh  
TG: no that’s not it  
TG: ok youre gonna have to sit tight and hold your horses when it comes to just blocking me and signing off and yeeting my messages into the void or whatever  
TT: The void is more RoLal’s speciality than it is mine. But consider the horses held.   
TG: good  
TT: Tenderly. I stroke their noses softly, feed them an apple. The crunch is delicious. They are content. The skies are blue, the grass is green, and the road lies ahead.   
TG: ok well maybe let em trot a little that was real weird   
TG: i need like a second to recover  
TT: I know, it’s a touching scene. My true home, I think.   
TG: it’s something for sure  
TT: Don’t knock the horses, dude. Remember that you need me for something here, even if I haven’t figured out what it is yet.   
TG: well calm down dude im gonna tell you  
TG: just yknow as soon as i figure out how  
TG: and its less a need and more something that i wanna say i guess  
TG: like ok i know its been 2 months or whatever  
TT: I’m not sure the whatever was necessary. You know how much time it’s been, I’m pretty sure.   
TG: dude youre making this difficult  
TT: That’s literally what I do.   
TT: But fine.   
TT: I’ll keep quiet until you’re done.   
TG: thank you  
TG: goddamn how hard is it to get some peace and quiet over here  
TG: all these kids on my lawn shouting down whats going to be like a bitching sincere apology and/or olive branch extension   
TG: whatever i say later to haters so listen up   
TG: im like  
TG: sorry about how shit went down last time we spoke  
TG: honestly  
TG: like this is definitely too late probably but like better late than never even though clichés are shit-awful   
TG: i  
TG: i wish i hadn’t said that shit   
TG: and i should’ve like kept my shit together and stayed cool and not had a total meltdown over the whole thing  
TG: especially the dave thing  
TG: like the rest ill admit was you pushing me and me flipping my lid but the dave thing was definitely not cool  
TG: like youre allowed to hang out with each other obviously and i shouldn’t be out here feelin any type of way about it since its not really my business  
TG: you weren’t even being a huge dick about it either when you told me you were trying to be considerate which is weird and you need to stop for one, but still  
TG: yeah  
TG: that’s actually about it. 

You let out a long, deep breath. There, you’ve said it, you want to vomit and take it back and also rip your heart out of your chest yourself before it makes a real and terrifying attempt to escape via your throat. Holy shit. You’ve said it. Now all he needs to do is reply, and somehow that is way more horrifying Jesus shitting wept.

You nearly drop your phone when it helpfully notifies you of his response.

TT: Oh. 

Well, that’s disappoint- nope, he’s still typing, oh fuck.

TT: I can’t say I was expecting any of that.   
TT: I mean, obviously it wasn’t cool.   
TT: I guess I wasn’t sure if I should have said anything to you or not, or checked in, but you seemed real final about the whole thing.   
TT: And.   
TT: I mean, I do get it.   
TT: I did push, and it wasn’t cool. It’s what I do, and while I’ve been making real, honest attempts to work on that and be less shitty about it- it’s a work in progress.   
TT: Which is also not an excuse, by the way. I’m just saying that I’m gonna be more careful with you in the future. Since. I’m assuming there’s going to be some kind of future where we hang out and are cool again? Or, cooler than we were before?   
TT: So we can divvy up the blame 50/50 for this one. Or maybe 70/30, ‘cause there were more sensitive ways I could’ve brought up the Dave thing, as you call it. 

It can’t be that easy. Seriously, it’s impossible. You literally have to read the fucking messages like four times before you realize that no, you weren’t a dumbass who somehow skipped over ten paragraphs of angry ranting, and that despite Dirk’s coldness from before, he’s just. Clearly ready to smooth it over.

Your traitor fingers are typing before you can do anything else, though.

TG: ok but like are you sure  
TG: not that im scrutinizing this big ol horse too hard or anything im no dentist  
TT: I think that significantly less experience with teeth is required to look at a wooden horse and determine that there’s a bunch of dudes in there ready to kill you and your family and the citizens of your city.   
TG: not sure its that dire tbh  
TG: like achilles’ gay ass is nowhere to be found  
TT: Granted, his gay ass being nowhere to be found was a solid problem. If he’d just done his job from the beginning instead of throwing a damn tantrum over the whole thing, he’d have been fine.   
TG: i mean isnt the whole point that he didnt do it and thats why shit went sideways like all that hubris and whatever  
TT: Yeah, nice.   
TG: wiki aint failed me today  
TT: No, it sure hasn’t. You should probably read it, though. Shit’s fun once you find a decent translation that works for you.   
TG: lets not go that far dude  
TT: Ha, okay.   
TG: anyway were like getting off topic again and while you know im all for shitty weird tangents you literally did not answer my question about being sure or not   
TT: I wouldn’t have said all of that if I wasn’t sure.   
TT: I would have just, never spoken to you again, probably.   
TG: wow  
TT: Yeah.   
TT: I sense there’s doubt in your tone.   
TG: i mean no offense or anything but the whole pushing deal does kinda make me think that youd at least want to get the last word in  
TT: My inability to let anyone else have it aside.   
TT: I wouldn’t be wasting either of our time if I thought you genuinely didn’t want to talk to me. As evidenced in the fact that I very much left you alone after being told to.   
TG: okay i mean yeah  
TG: cant really argue with that one much huh  
TT: Exactly.   
TT: Wait, are you wondering why it is I didn’t try and bug you further?   
TG: uh  
TG: no?   
TG: ok fine maybe was it actually that obvious or  
TT: Only in the way that you led me to believe that you weren’t fully satisfied with the answer.   
TT: You can rest assured that my not talking to you wasn’t because I thought that you weren’t worth my time or anything, or because you did anything particularly unforgivable.   
TG: well i didnt like kill a man in front of you   
TG: or a puppy thatd have more impact i feel  
TT: Yeah, we’re suckers for the dog dying trope.   
TT: And suffice it to say that you went real hard on reasserting your boundaries then and there. 

You- can’t really argue with that, even if you wish that you could. You hadn’t ever outright told Dirk to fuck off, seriously, before. Just sort of hoped he’d go away, except you’d hoped it less and less and also maybe been in denial about actually wanting to talk to him and enjoying the company. The attention. God, now you’re just realizing that you’re actually kind of pathetic and could have done this ages ago and he probably would’ve been okay with it. What the fuck.

TG: so are you saying that if i told you the day after that it was cool and shit  
TG: itd have been fine?   
TT: I mean.   
TT: Technically?   
TT: But I wouldn’t have taken your word for it, if that makes sense. Like, that’d have been real soon after to be suddenly zen with what the whole prolonged argument was about.   
TG: ok thats fair  
TG: im just trying to judge whether or not i was like dumb as hell for waiting so long  
TT: Well, you could’ve waited longer and just never spoken to me again. I would’ve probably considered that justified, even if I didn’t like it.   
TG: wow okay  
TG: you really are working on the pushing thing  
TT: Sure am, broski.   
TT: Also, I had a terrifyingly intimate talk with Rose after it, and she told me that I ought to just give you time because you probably weren’t going to straight up ghost me for eternity. She argued that it was physically impossible, but I wasn’t wholly convinced, admittedly.   
TG: dont underestimate me  
TG: but yeah i kinda thought that you were a mad at me and it was a whole thing that just sorta snowballed until i like finally got around to doing this  
TT: That’s cool.   
TG: so youre also not mad that it took forever  
TG: not literally forever but you know what i mean  
TT: Yeah, I do.   
TT: Honestly, dude, I’m not gonna say that I wasn’t kind of peeved about it, ‘cause I thought we had some sort of mutual respect going where you’d at least try and talk through it at some point. This is the point, I guess, since we’ve got the big boy pants on and are talking through it a bit, but still.   
TG: yeah  
TT: In the end, you were the wronged party, though. And like, the whole thing was also about me not giving you space and pushing and making dumb assumptions. So, I was willing to let it be and hope that you were gonna come talk to me when you were ready to.   
TT: Like, a rushed apology would’ve just seemed insincere, y’know?   
TG: yeah thats p fair  
TG: im uh glad that i did this though  
TG: message you about it  
TT: Yeah?   
TT: Me, too.   
TT: Not to get too emotional or anything, but I’ve missed talking to your dumb ass.   
TG: gay  
TT: The gayest. Don’t you forget it. 

You have to put your phone down and smile stupidly at the ceiling for five whole minutes. Your chest is all fuzzy, and that’s metaphorically, not just physically from the actual feathers around your neck; you’re light and buoyed up by dumb, ridiculous relief. It’s overwhelming. You didn’t realize just how worried you were, that Dirk would just throw the apology in your face and fuck all the way off forever, until he didn’t do it.

(Bro would’ve.)

(Bro would have fucking laughed at you for wanting to apologize. You’re not disappointed that you did. You don’t need to be like that- you don’t need to do that, because god fucking knows Dirk wouldn’t have said a damn thing without you there to make him know it’s okay.)

(You wonder, if you’d told him before that you wanted him to go away. If he would’ve listened as instantly, or protested it a little bit. You like to think that maybe he would have at least asked why. You know that you wouldn’t have been the one to go to him back then, though- it took you ages even now.)

You let out a breath.

This is fine. No- this is good.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, am I happy that I don't need go run through it and do the coding for the Pesterlogs anymore. Amen.

Your optimism was, shockingly, not completely fuckin’ misplaced. You talk to Dirk more and more often, and you even talk to Dave a bit, and Rose sometimes, since you thought you should probably thank the both of them for helping you two idiots out. It snowballed. That’s just about all you can say, especially with Dirk unsubtly encouraging you to keep talking to them. And then also them continuing to message you. You’re cagier around Rose, you think, because you still have all that weird, misplaced, not-that-Rose guilt from leaving your Rose by herself, even if she knew it was coming. Even if she fuckin’ told you to do it.

This Rose gets it. She’s careful about it, and you appreciate that.

And Dave. The animosity with Dave seriously does just seem to be a product of the whole dealing with not being a player thing, and not being a Dave thing, and being a sprite thing, all rolled into one. He’s- pretty chill. You don’t fall into the same horseshit Striderfest jamboree that you did before, but you do get dumb Snapchats from him and compete for who can draw the shittiest thing on it.

(It’s you, obviously. Fingers can’t compete with claws that vaguely register on your screen. Or with the dumb little stylus you use. No touch sensitivity. But it’s also Snapchat. There wasn’t any anyway.)

The biggest change, though, is probably that you actually end up leaving your place on a startlingly frequent basis, and you didn’t even realize it was happening at first. For socializing purposes, you mean, not essential shit like groceries (ie, fun sunflower seeds and soda, since you’re not fully sure about if you even need to eat, but you still like to snack and you’re working your way through the new microwave meals they’ve got because you definitely shouldn’t be cooking). You’d wander through random parks and take pictures with Dave, or help Rose run a couple of errands, or go over because Kanaya and Rose were arguing over whether you would wear pants or a skirt if you _did_ wear anything below the waist, which was really weird and when you told Dirk, he just sent you a fucking meme that had you cracking up for the next day.

But you see Dirk the most, which is partially a surprise since you always took him for some kind of a hermit, but also partially not, because you think that he’s also using this as a chance to either get out of his place (by going to yours) or just straight up socialize more. You like where he lives, for all that you’re not into both nature and the commute it takes to actually get there.

Like today, it’s overcast and kind of chilly as you haul your ass on over, pace reasonably sedate because you do like floating and flying, shit’s nice, and it didn’t sound urgent, just weird. It still takes you nearly a fucking hour to get there from the nearest transportalizer stop, but it’s less because his house is far away and more because his instructions of ‘I’m by the lake’ is really not helpful. Jesus fuck, you’d think a lake would be hard to miss and easier to find.

Dirk’s sitting cross-legged and staring out at the water when you finally meet him, because apparently ‘yeah, I’m at the lake’ is somehow a good enough direction for you to follow. It isn’t- you didn’t even know that he lived near a lake, and you sure as hell haven’t been in a lake before, you can’t even swim and now you don’t need to, since wet feathers are disgusting, awful, and just the worst. You’re just happy it’s not raining, because the sky’s been threatening it, shaking grey, thundercloud fingers at you all warningly like stern parent that just may have finally snapped. Or so you think, based on old sitcoms.

“Hey,” you say, because you know you need to warn him that you’re here. Not that he doesn’t know, but Dirk’s still not good with loud and sudden noises from above in the same way that you’re not fantastic with metal hitting metal or fire. Or dogs, really, but you’re not sure if that’s a Bec Noir thing or a, uh, instinctive crow thing from your bird half. It pitches in on the weirdest of things.

“Sup,” he answers back, cool and calm as the surface of the lake. It’s placid as hell, like a mirror just set there in the earth. Not a particularly good one, though.

“If you were angling to get me to go for a swim, I’m gonna have to take a hard pass on that broski, because water and I do not mix and let me tell you, that shit looks cold as hell and it’s always colder than it looks.”

“Don’t worry, dude, I’m not gonna yeet your feathered ass into the water. Ain’t even gonna ask you to skim the top and grab me some fish, either,” he drawls out. You marvel briefly at the fact that you can read amusement in his tone. “Not in the least ‘cause there’s actually a couple of nasty lusii in there that it’s best not to disturb.”

And now you can’t tell if he’s fucking with you or not. You skitter an anxious glance along the surface of the lake, which is now disturbingly still instead of calm.

“Good thing I can’t swim, damn,” you say, trying for levity.

“Even if you could, I wouldn’t toss you in there. And I wouldn’t swim in there either.”

“Technically, getting vored isn’t just or heroic.”

“It’s a shame those rules don’t apply to you, because it’d be just if you just dropped dead after saying that.”

“Stop booing me, I’m right and you know it.”

“Never. Someone needs to keep your ego in check.”

“What, mine? My poor little ego? Let that guy spread his wings and grow, dude, ain’t no need to be cruel that way.”

“It’s constructive criticism, probably.”

“I don’t think you know what that means.”

“Yeah, well.”

Dirk lapses into silence, shrugging slightly. You aren’t fully sure why he asked you to come meet him here, but you strongly suspect it’s another step in his crusade to get you out of your house and breathe in some ‘fresh air’ every so often, not that you’re going to get any kind of an answer out of him about it if you ask. You appreciate the effort, anyway, so you don’t bitch about it too much. Ain’t like you get invited that many places to begin with.

(Although.)

(You _are_ talking to a few more people now, so that could change in the future. You’re not sure whether the prospect is relieving or horrifying.)

“So. Is this your usual brooding spot?” you start off, settling down next to him. There’s still a careful distance between the two of you, and in profile he looks a lot more like Bro with his shades on, but you see the differences more than the similarities these days. Especially with his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on them; there’s a lot of vulnerability tied up in that posture, and you’d never see Bro any way other than with his back ramrod straight.

(Or him sprawled out on it in the lightest of dozes. Or flat on his ass with a sword-)

(No.)

You force your attention to stay on the lake. You’re not wondering if anything’s going to be bursting out of it and devouring the two of you in a quick gulp- you’re pretty sure Dirk wouldn’t be so close if there was a chance of that happening.

“I don’t brood,” he tells you.

“You literally could be CW leading male with how much you stare off into the distance impassively.”

“That’s not brooding, that’s just my face.”

“And that’s real fucking sad.”

“Fuck all the way off.”

“I can’t believe you told me to come here, made me think it was important, only to tell me that.”

“It’s the real life version of the ‘blocked’/’wait unblock me’/’bitch’/’blocked’ meme.”

“You definitely didn’t need to spell the whole thing out like that, but you sure did, and that’s what makes you real special, dude. But yeah, basically, except I got claws and a whole lot of lazy.”

“Not sure what about that was meant to be a threat.”

“Both. The claws are so I can dig into the earth and stay instead of being blocked again. Ain’t blocking me out, bro, it’s impossible and you’re gonna have to live with it.”

“Time for one of those reality filters.”

“It’s called denial, you fucking heathen, and you’re only good at having your head up your ass under certain circumstances.”

Dirk’s- okay, he’s looking sort of nonplussed as he stares at you. The Dirk Strider, speechless. You’re damn proud of yourself there.

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“Yes,” you tell him, happily. “Now, in that vein of things, what the fuck are we doing sitting here and waiting to get rained on?”

“Not brooding, for one,” Dirk says, deadpan. “But is it so impossible to believe that I wanted the company of a bro on this fine day?”

You look pointedly at the dun gray sky and the pallid, dark cast to just about everything around. You stand out only because you’re traffic-cone orange, and you feel like you’re the crudely-drawn sun in the corner of some kid’s depressing artwork.

Dirk doesn’t relent, though, so you have to resign yourself to not knowing. For now. You’re not sure you can force it out of him, but frankly, if he wanted to talk, he sure recruited the right dude for the job.

(You’re solidly ignoring the warmth in your chest, at the fact that Dirk asked _you_ , and not anyone else. It’s not a trust that you thought you’d have- hell, it’s not a trust that you would have wanted or known what to do with, but now, you’re thankful for it. Even if you still don’t fully know what to do with it.)

“I guess not,” you finally say, turning to look at him. As always, he’s so ridiculously aware of your scrutiny, you can see his shoulders tense right up. Well, more than usual.

“Then you’re real fucking gullible,” Dirk tells you, matter-of-fact. It’s a perfect deadpan delivery, enough that you’re nearly offended for a second before you realize it’s a joke- and damn but you might not have even a few months ago-, and reward him with a tiny little smile. It’s just a quirk of your lips, and way better than the amused little bird sound you can feel bubbling up in your throat.

“Maybe I’m an optimist,” you offer. There’s a moment of silence, before you both laugh. Not real laughs- you snort, and Dirk lets out this little huff of breath that could maybe be construed as a laugh with ten different perception filters on it.

“Yeah, right.”

“Seen too much shit for that,” you agree. “Even if it all did work out in the end, somehow. For some of us.”

“Jesus. Even questioning the happy endings?” Dirk’s tone is still light, as far as you can tell, but when you look down, you see him tearing up tufts of grass, shredding them and letting them fall in little dead heaps at his fingers. The smallest funeral mounds imaginable. Pyramids for ants, maybe.

“Just a few of them,” you answer, more honest than you’d meant to be. But you get the feeling that it’s not about you, it’s about solidarity. You’d dreamt plenty of what it would be like to make your own universe, when you’d started the Game in your timeline. A different place, a better place, better than the one you’d destroyed because everyone would be alive still. You hadn’t been too fussed about the details.

But then you had to stop dreaming about it, because your timeline was Doomed with a capital D, because Egbert went and got himself fucking killed for a troll girl’s shits and giggles, and that was the end of any happy endings you could’ve ever had. And from there- well. As Davesprite (as you), you were just a construct in the end. Half-game, half-Dave, half-bird, not a whole anything, not a real anything, in any sense of the word.

“Me too. It stormed last night,” Dirk says, and it’s a concession in its own right. “It’s weird, to wake up in the middle of the night to a thud on the roof and realize it’s a bird, or a branch or something. A lot of my daily routine is gone- not to say that I actually miss doing maintenance on the pylons and shoring them up before and after storms, but there’s a gaping empty slot in my schedule where I’d normally be doing that. I did check the roof,” he adds, absent. “There wasn’t even a branch on there.”

“Wind might’ve blown it back off again,” you say, unsure of what else he’s expecting to hear. Or where he’s going with this. Dirk doesn’t really talk about his life before the Game, at least not with you. Not with anyone else who wasn’t already privy to the snippets of it. You think that he’s told Dave something, but you’re also sure that Dave would’ve asked a thousand and one times before he actually gave any information out.

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “Things are just real different here.”

“You mean- civilized, or?” You leave this an open-ended question. Dirk’s place only just west of nowhere, but you’re still not sure it actually counts.

“Yeah, I guess.” He pauses, a silence for collecting his thoughts rather than avoiding the question. “Jane’s fit in here pretty seamlessly. Roxy, too.”

It’s kind of a non-sequitur as far as you’re concerned, but you know enough of Dirk to know that this is just a weird, circular way of getting to the point. Mostly, you’re grateful that the point is even on the destination list. You’re not sure that you’re going to like it, but you’re glad he might get to it sometime in the future.

“And Jake’s- off doing his own thing, most of the time.” There’s a whole lot in his voice there, and none of it is anything you want to read too deep into. You know the basics, and you’d heard they’d smoothed things out last, but Dirk’s clearly still feeling some type of way about it. But you’re- kind of sure that he’s not wanting to talk about his ex-boyfriend with you, and that’s maybe a bit of a relief. “I mean, sure, he’s in the middle of the jungle, but he’s always _been_ in the middle of the jungle and is at least fifty times less likely to die, which is good. And he’s happy, which is also good.”

“Okay, dude, I’m not too sure what it is I’m meant to be saying to that. ‘Cause like, I don’t know the guy that well, so if I’m meant to be here flinging voodoo dolls weighted down with rocks into the lake and cursing his name and his family and his cow, I’m fully willing to do that, but it seems kinda dumb.”

“…Does Tavros count as a cow? God, I hope not, the dude’s been through way too much,” Dirk says, slowly. Deflection again, but- a real good distraction for you, and you have to tell yourself to calm down and stay on track. You just raise an eyebrow at Dirk. He just lifts one shoulder, a weird, apologetic half-shrug, and abandons the tangent.

“Anyway,” you prompt. “There’s like four other people you haven’t really listed out how they’ve adjusted.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I really need to go through the others. I’m not even sure I should include Jane in this one, to be honest.”

“Depends on the metric you’re going by- not that you should be going by one. You know what Rose says.”

“We’re all ridiculously traumatized in vastly different ways,” Dirk interjects, in an uncannily perfect imitation of the Lalonde herself. It makes you shiver reflexively, fluffing in anticipation for some kind of lecture. Embarrassed, you settle down when nothing else follows. That was too good for your comfort, and you’re sure it’s way too good for Rose’s.

“Yeah. So I feel like you’re gonna need to be more specific in which one you’re talking about, cause you’ve clearly got something specific in mind as opposed to general Game-related fuckery.”

“So perceptive, bro.”

“It’s elementary, Sherlock Brolmes.”

“He never actually said that, one, and second, it’s aimed at Watson.”

“Okay, now you’re just being nitpicky, just accept an excellent bropun and tell me your deep dark emotional secrets.”

“Wow, not even going for subtlety on that one, huh.”

“If you think I’m gonna let you duck and dodge and wilfully ignore your way through this one, think again, dude. You’re the one who wants to talk about it, so I figure it’s my job to not let you off the hook. The turns have tabled and I am fuckin’ loving being on the other end of this shit for once.” You’re not even lying about it; you’re more than happy to have Dirk being the one telling you shit, and you being the one having to goad him into it. You’ll admit that it nearly makes you appreciate what he does to sort of coax shit out of you- and why he does it. It’s real fuckin’ obvious that he needs to get this shit off his chest, but Striders apparently need someone with pliers to reach in and yank it out. You’re okay doing that.

“Fair enough,” Dirk says, and his lips twist into a wry little smile. It’s small, but it’s unmistakeably there. “Since I need to be specific, let’s say it’s down to coping with being in actual civilization. RoLal and I had sort of similar environments, except she had Carapacians, and I was stuck in the middle of the ocean. Jake, too, except he was on an island where everyone tried to kill him. I mean, Jane was pretty isolated as far as I can tell, so people wouldn’t try to kill _her_ , but she at least knew what normal life was meant to be.”

“Okay. That makes some sense.” You say this because you don’t really know what else to. Nodding solemnly seems to be the best thing to do, so you do it.

“Yeah. But I can’t really deal with crowds well at all, and- this isn’t to say that I don’t like it here, because there’s no way I would have survived to be this old if I’d never played the Game, but. It’s still a lot to deal with, sometimes. You know what I mean.” Dirk’s not looking at you as he says this, but you can see that his eyebrows are drawn together in a frown, his fingers sunk deep into the grass.

“I mean, not in the same way, but yeah.” You shrug a little; you can’t deny that. Despite how much you hate talking about it- and this time, you’re not meant to be talking about it. Grudgingly, you drag the words out of yourself. “My entire deal’s different and you know that already.”

“Did you know, I never really thought I’d make it out of the Game either?” he changes paths so easily, you’re left a little bit dumbfounded.

“Not really. You’re not a defeatist kind of guy.”

“You’re not wrong there. But like, statistically speaking. It’s real fucking improbable that we ended up being the alpha timeline.” His fingers are drumming properly against his leg now, and you think that this is some kind of anxious tell. You make a mental note of it, because you really don’t know any of Dirk’s tells. It sort of feels like a revelation just knowing that he can get anxious about shit, but obviously you’re not dumb enough to say any of that out loud, holy shit.

You don’t really want to say anything else, either, because you’re excruciatingly aware of the point he’s just made. You just don’t know why this shit’s bothering him at all. Thankfully, Dirk loves a good monologue sometimes, so you don’t really need to contribute that much. All you need to do is wait and sort of think things through and also figure out what’s going on.

“And then- I know the dreambubbles don’t exist anymore, but there’s a lot of dumb, dead pieces of Dirk Strider out there. Just from our specific little slice of time, mind you. Including the weird shit John pulled, and the whole decapitation deal.”

He’s circling around something, but you’re not sure you like where it’s headed. You rarely do, on the rare occasion Dirk wants to have a conversation about Serious Business. Which is literally almost never- the last one was a colossal fight. Maybe you should be happy he’s trusting you with this shit? You want to be. You want to deserve it, too.

“Iunno,” he finally says, and sighs expansively. “It’s probably all hells of selfish for me to call you out here and start asking about your experiences of being here, because I’ve got a reasonable idea that you don’t feel like you fit in either. Even if you do belong here, no goddamn question about it.”

It’s the way he says it that really gets you. No goddamn question about it. Casual, matter-of-fact, and it’s not just the blank tone that really sells it. You know that he believes it. It makes you tense. You were right- you definitely didn’t like where this shit was headed. You’re going to stay cool. You’re a grown manbird and you have got your shit together.

“I mean, I’ve got a couple yes goddamn questions about it, dude,” you start off, sort of casual. “But honestly, I’m not gonna say I can relate to whatever it is you’re going through here with that survivor’s guilt, mostly because I’m fuckin’ lucky to have made it at all. Like. It’s not even the same ballpark, it’s entirely different games on entirely different planets made by entirely different civilizations. The only thing in common is that they’re centered around this weird spherical object that can bounce.”

“I’m not gonna deny the whole survivor’s guilt deal, but I would venture that it’s maybe a bit more than that. I did literally die, I wasn’t meant to be brought back.” And- wow, you really don’t want to think about the implications of that, because you weren’t there, and even if you heard the stories, you’re not going to jump to any conclusions here.

“Well,” you say, after a second. You try and make your voice equally decisive. “You were, and you’re here, and you’re alive.”

“And you belong here just as much as I do,” Dirk says, and it’s the exact kind of asshole comment that is still enough to leave you fuming. “As the rest of us.” He tacks that on to the end, because apparently he’s not fully committed to winding you the fuck up today. Great.

“I’m not like you guys, okay? I’m not meant to be here, I don’t even know _how_ it happened, I was supposed to-,” you break off, shaking your head in a single, violent motion. You don’t know what you were supposed to do. You never knew- you only had what the Game told you, what was coded into your very being.

Dirk looks at you, his face infuriatingly even, and you _hate_ so much that you don’t know how to read him. You know how to read a face that’s older than his, the little minute tells you can pick up only after years and years of living with someone compounded with months in the game having each other’s backs. 

“And you think I am?” is all he says, one eyebrow raised. Goddammit, your logic is too broadly applicable and now he thinks he’s winning while you’re both frustrated and also trying not to freak out. A real nice outing, this is.

“You’re a player,” you say, and you hate that you can’t keep the bitterness out of your voice. Dirk was always meant to be here- you can’t imagine a timeline where he didn’t win. Where he didn’t do whatever it took to win, at least. You would’ve said the same thing about your session, back when you still thought you were the alpha timeline, before you realized that it was fucking doomed. That optimism hasn’t been a part of you for a long, long time now, but you can still get fucking _angry_ about ingratitude.

“You should know better than anyone that that doesn’t guarantee _anything_.”

“Doesn’t it?” you shoot back. “Because you’re here, and you’re supposed to be, Dirk, and it doesn’t fuckin’ matter how you feel about it. This is what you wanted when you decided to play the Game. This is the happily ever after you risked everything for and isn’t it fucking worth it now? You got what you wanted in the end, dreamt up this little universe to your exact goddam specifications, why can’t you be happy with it? What is so fucking _terrible_ about it?”

You regret it almost as soon as you’re done talking. You don’t want to sit here and listen to Dirk pick through every little minute flaw in this place, or everything that wasn’t _his_ design, as much as the design was conscious. You’d gotten that part of it wrong, too.

He doesn’t answer your question, predictably. Instead he says something much worse.

“Has it occurred to you that if you were here, then it means that someone _wanted_ you here?”

All your indignant rage, starting to build up as it had been, fizzles out at that. You’re fucking dumbfounded, and you know it’s not a pretty look. Davesprite.exe has stopped working and all that jazz, except now it’s mostly metaphor instead of the searing agony of answers computing to questions that the Game didn’t want to answer, the nonchalance you had to sell its secrets away so easily was won tooth and fucking nail, not that Dave knew. Not that you’d tell anyone that you wanted them to have a much better chance than you, except their timeline was so much worse.

They did it, though.

They did.

“My part was done,” you say, as even as you can manage. You don’t look at Dirk. You can feel your claws pushing into the earth, cool and damp and firm beneath them as you gouge into the slight resistance and then snap of thread roots. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Like hell you actually believe that.” You know what he’s doing, needling you into this because he doesn’t want to really talk about what’s going on in his head, and frankly, you fucking hate that it’s actually working on you.

“Look, dude, my one and only job coming into this was to make sure Johnny boy didn’t get himself offed in the first ten seconds of being in the Game, and I sure as hell got that one done, didn’t I? The rest was just- I was here already, I might as well have done something. But I’m no hero; I didn’t godtier, I didn’t do shit other than point the r- Dave,” you break off, and correct yourself. You know he doesn’t like it when you refer to the real Dave as that. You don’t much like it either, but it’s a very easy way to separate out your identities. More than that, it’s habit now. “I just pointed Dave in the right direction every so often, and then fucked off to find Bro. That’s it.”

“You fought Dog Jack. Bec Noir, that’s what they called him,” Dirk says, simple. It’s a fact, like that’s something you should be celebrated for. You survived, you weren’t even sure you could properly die as a sprite. You lost a wing, a brother, a hell of a lot more than that.

“ _Fought_ is a strong word for what actually went down.” You have to bite out the words. You hate remembering this- you thought you’d gotten better at blocking it out, at pretending flinching at any dog barking was because of your bird instincts rather than sheer fuckin’ trauma the scale of which Lalonde would love to get her perfectly manicured mitts on. You hate remembering how the euphoria of a near win just- flipped in an instant.

Sometimes you think that Bro had been surprised too. Sometimes you think that he went into that fight knowing that he was going to die.

“Still.”

“You don’t get it,” you tell him, but that seething, angry place inside of you is just hollow now.

“Don’t I?” Dirk’s tone is pointed. You turn, just enough to see his fingers rest lightly at a spot just above the hollow of his throat. You look away.

“Dying for the sake of winning and becoming part of the Game itself are two very different things.” You think you sound more bitter, more severe than you mean to be, but it’s fine. It is. You’ve come to terms with that, at least, even if you still sometimes can’t quite figure out how and why you exist here.

“I guess so. But thinking you’re going to win and actually _doing_ it are also two very different things. No matter what it is you did to get yourself here,” he adds, with a meaningful look at you.

“You don’t need to keep beating that dead horse until it’s dead, dude,” you say, without the requisite amount of amusement. Instead, you just sound tired. “It doesn’t matter who wanted me here- and real talk, I’m not convinced that’s even right, but still, I ain’t even sure which bastard’s ass I’m gonna need to kick for that. All that doesn’t really make dealing with being here any easier.”

“Fair enough. You’d think being here would make dealing with being here even easier, though. People can adjust to any fucking thing.”

“Like living post-apocalypse on a flooded planet with a puppet guardian.”

“Exactly like that, yeah. Or like being half-bird and mostly human on the inside. Or being dealt a shitty hand by a shittier Game.”

“Did you ever think you were subtle? ‘Cause you might want to think again.”

“Please. If I was trying to manipulate you, I would be more subtle. Now I’m just trying to make you see sense.”

He pauses for a second, his mouth slightly open. You’re patient enough to wait this out instead of just protesting his dumbass ideas. You don’t much like the idea that Dirk could manipulate you, or is even thinking about it. You want to think he’s better than that. You think that he wants to _be_ better than that.

“Or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself.”

It just hangs in the air between you, getting heavier and heavier. You don’t know what to say. You’re- are you supposed to reassure him, are you supposed to crack a joke and make it lighter, Dirk doesn’t do this, he doesn’t confide in you, and your brain just goes fucking blank at it. How the fuck do you even comfort him on this without getting pissed off again. You just keep staring at the little piles of grass, like they can provide any kind of answer, like the fuckin’ shredded green plants (RIP, rest in plant) are going to tell you how to deal with whatever crisis Dirk is having. He’s talking to you about this because he thinks you get it, except you don’t but you don’t know how to do this without letting all your own shit about the same topic get in the way.

“Uh,” you say, intelligently. Jesus fuck. Okay, no, you can do this. “I still think I’m not fully qualified to say what’s what in your case, y’know. Especially since half your deal is the actual presence of other people, which is a literal entire other can of worms.” Recapping is good. Recapping is normal, probably, while you try and figure out what the fuck to say here. “Just, I don’t know, man. Get therapy? Talk to someone about how to deal with it? I feel like it’s more, uh, present in everyone else than you actually think so it probably wouldn’t be too bad an idea to talk to them. Yeah.”

Okay, he’s quiet now, and you’ve officially run out of things to say and are racking your brain for literally anything to continue.

“You’re probably right,” Dirk finally says, but in the tone of voice where you can’t tell if he actually thinks this or if he’s just indulging you. You’re pretty sure it’s the latter, but maybe he is considering it. A little bit. Since you won’t help him. No, not won’t- you can’t. You’re beyond unequipped to deal with this, and it’s definitely not incompetence if you tell him that. He’s not going to think less of you. “To be honest, I feel like this is shit I could work through myself with some dedicated time? I don’t really know if I want anyone poking around in my brain for it. Just maybe someone to listen to it. Which- you already have, which was pretty cool to do, especially since, I, uh. Didn’t really think it would be such a thing for you, either.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I’ve settled in pretty well here, y’know?” you shrug a little. You’re relieved, maybe, but discomfited. Of course he wasn’t going to turn to you for real advice. Who fuckin’ would. “And it’s not like we ever really talked about that shit.”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet. Contemplative. Okay, Dirk might actually be considering what you said, about talking to other people. You decide to think of this as a success, and hope you didn’t also make him think that you just never wanted to talk about serious shit with him so you’re just foisting that off on others. Oh, god, it would be so like him to think that, wouldn’t it. But you don’t want to encourage him to start like, spilling his guts to you either, because you know full well that you’re not _that_ close just yet and it’ll only make things weird. You’ll- leave it. For another day. When you’re ready to talk about your half of things with him. You think that you can, which is another revelation to deal with, but maybe not now. You can just sort of hum and nod and acknowledge its existence and it’ll be fine.

“Thanks, though. For hearing me out and shit. And coming out here to begin with.”

“No problem,” you tell him, and you mean it. “It’s nice here. I might drop by more often. Less often, if I see whatever may or may not be living in that there lake.”

“Let’s hope you don’t see it, then,” Dirk tells you, in so serious a tone that you’re distracted and vaguely afraid. At least until the corner of his mouth lifts up into a half-smile. That more than anything else lets you know that the mood’s broken.


	9. Chapter 9

You’re hanging out with Dirk for something like the tenth time in person, not that you’re keeping track because that’d be ridiculous, and maybe are more comfortable than you would have thought possible. Which is not much if you’re being compared to anyone remotely well-adjusted, but for you and for him, you think it’s a damn good achievement. You told him this, last time, and he just nodded all slow and pensive and said, ‘Cheers, I’ll drink to that, bro’. He then had to explain the meme to you, which is ten levels of embarrassing. Not that you need a PhD in memeology from a dead universe or anything, but it’s the kind of thing you pride yourself on knowing.

The thing about it is that you haven’t consciously thought of Dirk as Bro for a long time. But at the same time, you some how _have_ been- you never made the decision to separate the two of them in your head like you’re pretty sure Dave did. Maybe not deliberately, but something in the back of your head has been saying that you can deal with Dirk because he’s on some level a known quantity. Something’s been saying that you grew up with his adult self lurking around every corner and in the crawlspace, that you worked with the guy in the game, fought with him and maybe owed him your life which is a fucking nasty thought for several different reasons. You know that he’s not Bro, but you’ve been expecting him to react like he is- meaning, not at all. Or brush it off, ignore it, maybe insult you a little in the process to deflect properly and piss you off and make sure that you knew how to keep your damn cool through everything.

So maybe that’s why it’s so surprising that Dirk actually frowns a little, a small divot between his eyebrows as he looks at you. But the worst part is that he takes a small, aborted step towards you, one arm lifted slightly like he’s trying to reach out. Bro wouldn’t do that, not unless he was going to clap you on the shoulder and tell you to be a man, squeezing tight enough to bruise.

You can’t help how you flinch. It’s not instinct of any kind- you know not to, Bro didn’t like any sign of weakness, but it spooks you so goddamn much that you just. You do it.

And Dirk freezes, carefully lowers his hand after a beat. His face smooths out almost immediately, and that frown is gone, any evidence that he gives a shit is gone other than that same cautious distance. It’s shocking that you know it’s cautious, instead of some hate-fuelled avoidance, or avoidance just because he already has one Dave, what the fuck would he do with another.

You don’t know what to do, even as you open your mouth to start talking. Which you know is a terrible idea, but what the fuck else are you meant to do other than run your mouth until shit smooths over? Not that it’s worked before, you’re pretty sure that it actively pisses people off.

“Yeah, uh, so that’s the sob story and all that done with, I’m doing pretty good, pretty solid, and that’s all she wrote. Even though she apparently wrote murder, but I don’t think that should apply. Like we’ve got a pretty good no-murder streak going, even if that batshit troll is somehow lurking around? Apparently they locked him in a fridge which is weird but hey I guess it worked since he didn’t need to eat or drink because of extreme clown endurance? Damn, bro, I didn’t even think I was afraid of clowns before all this, but that story alone would make me feel like a three year old that just heard their parents read IT out loud for bedtime. Fun fact, that sounds like a Lalonde technique- not yours, but mine- and wow, that’s a horrifying thought and a half, but it kinda explains a lot, huh,” you keep on rambling until you feel yourself losing steam, until your feathers are smooth and you manage to force some semblance of relaxation into your posture.

“The term’s coulrophobia,” Dirk adds, his voice quiet. “And I think there was a remake, an IT movie that came out in two parts. People were both terrified of the clown, and wanted to fuck it- which about checks out given what I know of humanity. I’d still recommend you watch it, but don’t tell me if you want to fuck the clown, dude. We’re not that close yet, and that’s definitely not locker room talk I can get down with.”

“Are you not down with the clown, bro, is that it? I’m pretty sure you don’t even have any weird, bad clown-related experience like the rest of us. Okay, granted I was not on the meteor with said clown for three years so I didn’t either but I don’t trust the slippery bastard. Not one bit.”

“Theoretically I could go down _on_ the clown,” Dirk muses, his voice far too serious to be anything but a joke. You don’t even register that clown-fucking is part of the agenda until five seconds after, which is embarrassing but he doesn’t call you out on it. Hopefully Dirk’s just assumed that you’re ignoring that because it’s fucked to all hell. Which you are, now that you’ve thought about it.

“Please don’t,” you tell him, earnest. “And if you do, please keep that shit to yourself.”

“I don’t know, bro, I feel like it’d be a solid detail to drop on your Lalonde when she’s trying to get me to talk about shit.”

“Only you would go clown-fucking to use it as a fun anecdote.”

“It’s more misdirection, and I’d feel terrible about lying to Rose. So it has to be true.”

“And if you’re hoping that she’ll be disgusted enough to never try and talk to you about personal shit again, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Jade seems to think otherwise, she was very, very sincere in her belief that Rose really doesn’t need to hear about my sex life.”

“What sex life? That shit’s basically coughing up dust from the grave.”

“Okay, well. Rose doesn’t need to know that, and I look more well-adjusted if she thinks that I’m out and about.”

“Fucking clowns.”

“Yes.”

“You know that isn’t going to reassure anyone, right?”

“What?”

“I’m telling you, dude. The fact that you’re considering it at all is more a cause of concern than anything else.”

“I’ve never been ashamed of what I’m into, so jot that down,” Dirk says, dead serious. “Hell, if you want shit to _actually_ kinkshame me for, I’ll be happy to provide my F-list.”

You pause, think hard about asking what that is, and then decide that no, you don’t want to know. Okay, you’re a curious guy, and part of you really fucking wants to know, but not in that much detail. As in, only the website and not whatever fetishes your pseudo-bro has. That’s too much, too soon, and you are not at the stage of comfort where you can actually kinkshame him for an actual kink.

“No,” you say, real quick ‘cause he’s opened his mouth like a shark that knows you need an explanation, and doesn’t know that your metaphors got mixed up. “No, you don’t need to elaborate, I’m all hip and fly with the pop culture of the day, thanks. I got all the obscure internet corners checked off my list, broseph, finished that shit up not an hour before getting here.”

Something very like amusement plays with the corners of his mouth when he closes it again. “Right,” he just drawls out, all full of doubting. It makes you bristle, though not literally this time, thank fuck.

“You don’t need to worry,” you tell him abruptly, because he doesn’t launch himself off on another tangent, and you kind of get the feeling that he’s working himself up to something like that. Your heart rate’s slowed down, you’re not freaking out- not that you were properly freaking out before-, and you don’t know what else to do with the sudden urge to let him know that shit is okay.

“I think you’ll find that I worry about everything, whether it presents itself as a problem or not.”

“And. This one isn’t. Not to get all serious after a very enlightening discussion about clowns and what people think of them, but- yeah. We can get back to the clowns now, like, are you going to categorize juggalos in there, or?” You’re rambling, you know, and your attempt to smooth the whole thing over again is kind of pathetic, you have to admit. Especially since Dirk’s quiet again, all thoughtful and serious as he looks at you. Really looks at you- and yes, you do know how to tell the difference. After twenty years of being watched, first when you didn’t know and then when you did, you know what eyes on you feel like. You can’t say that you like it any more now than you did before, but Dirk’s gaze is more cautious and considering, it’s not a threat even though it makes you bristle.

“I can go,” he offers, and you don’t quite parse the words through properly at first, because it’s not really like him to just back down like that. But he’s clearly so serious about it that you just- stare. Awkwardly. Jesus, you need to get it together.

“C’mon, dude, I didn’t think you were going to get scared off by some clowning around.”

“I should leave for that joke alone,” he says instantly, and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at your dumb joke. You’re proud of it, you don’t care. It was fuckin’ good, and thematically appropriate.

“Sucks, you like me too much to ditch me just for that,” you tell him, cheerful. You’re reasonably confident that you’re right, and you’re also reasonably confident that he was joking before.

“Sometimes that’s just how it be on this bitch of an Earth C.” Okay, well, that was both depressing and too serious, and you’re not liking it.

“Do you actually want to go?” you blurt out. It’s- way more direct than you would’ve been in the past, but you’re pretty sure that Dirk will just talk fuckin’ circles around you as he climbs out the window if you give him the chance. You’re not going to give him the chance.

“I think I should,” he says, which is neither here nor there. “You’re still, y’know.”

“Okay, look. It’s not whatever you’re working it up to be. Matter of fact, I don’t even know what it is you’re working it up to be, but it’s not that,” you say, too-fast as the words spill out of your mouth. You’re lying, and he knows it, but you really don’t want him to freak out over this when he never has before. Or maybe he’s been quietly freaking out about it the whole time, but reconciliation or whatever with Dave had been the real priority on that end. No, you tell yourself. That’s not it. Your relationship with Bro was a whole lot different from Dave’s, in the end. Even if things hadn’t changed too much, you like to think that you’d reached some kind of understanding with him in the Game. Come to terms, at least a little bit, with why he did what he did. Hell, you’d put that shit to good use, and you hadn’t hated it; he wasn’t your Bro, but he was willing to be something like it, and that was good enough for you.

And Dirk- well. You have to remember that your relationship with Dirk has been fraught with way more pressing things, like avoidance and mutual dumbassery (which you only admit when you’re feeling real sorry for yourself, but that doesn’t make it less true). It’s not exactly been him worrying about reminding you of Bro before (maybe), it’s just been him trying to actually talk to you. Only now you’re talking enough that he can see the signs, except he’s catching the tail end of them at the wrong fucking time.

(He never saw you freaking out about Bro before, it’s not like he reached into your head to yank the thoughts out about it. It’s not like you’ve ever told him or anyone else what it was like, and you’re going to take that to the fucking grave. It’s safe where it is, in your nightmares. And you know that Dirk won’t press you on it, not anymore. You also know that you don’t want him to.)

(Yet.)

(Maybe that’s part of it, too.)

“Or, I do know, because Dave went through pretty much the same cycle of this shit, and I can’t believe that I’ve just. Been here and putting you through it, just because you’re not as obvious about it as he is.”

That answers your question. No fucking duh you’re not obvious about it; you had time to see Bro as another thing entirely. You’ve got actual fond memories of the guy that- don’t really get tainted by what your shared childhood had been. It also steps on a nerve that Dirk’s usually real careful to tread around, and you’re doing your best not to bristle too much at it, but it’s just- not quite enough.

“For the fuckin’ hundredth time or whatever, I’m not Dave, got it? Jesus, bro, you need to get that shit through your skull. Just because he was fully ready to shit his pants at the sight of you doesn’t mean that I am.”

“No, all you do is flinch and then just not say anything about it, which has got to be real good for you, right? It doesn’t matter if you’re Dave or not, you’re dealing with some similar shit, and I’d be an idiot to ignore it even if you don’t want to bring it up. So, I’m going to go, and you can figure out the rest later.” He says, infuriatingly calm and even like you don’t even exist. The decision’s been made, gavel banged, and the Supreme Justice Dirk Strider’s sentenced you to time without him already.

“You’re just- so fucking obtuse, holy shit,” you shake your head. You’re getting kind of annoyed at this bullshit right now. “What are you gonna do if I do tell you to get the fuck out, huh? If I took you at your word there and told you that you’re right, I’ve been repressing shit all along, and that I should definitely never see you again.”

He looks suitably stunned by that, and you take a vindictive pride in it. That’s right, bro, the shoe’s on your foot now. You’re getting worked up, but that’s fine, that’s okay; he needs to hear this, and if you’ve gotta be the one to tell it to him, so be it.

“I. Would respect that decision,” he says, slow but unsure. God, he’s actually thinking it over. You bet that he’d make himself believe he deserved it, too. “I wouldn’t blame you for it.”

Bingo.

“Dirk. I know you say that you’ve got a lot of bullshit to work through, but this is ridiculous. It’s a whole goddamn Jurassic Park 3’s worth of it, and I ain’t even trying to go elbow-deep in there and find a lost phone.”

It’s his turn to flinch, and- oh, okay, that’s not great, you can see his shoulders tense and his face harden like he’s bracing himself for a blow. You came on too strong there. Your heart is beating so fast you can’t even think of what you’re going to say next. You forge on anyway. Open your mouth and do what you do best- just talk.

“So like, I’m not super sure what you’re trying to achieve here by telling me you should go? Honestly, bro, you had your opportunity to be rid of me like all begone thot, but you passed that shit up already, so you’re definitely stuck with me now. We’ve got a bond that can’t be broken, and ironically enough, it was forged through a lot of icy, passive-aggressive silence.” You want Dirk to read in between the lines as to how much it means to you, that he actually kept on reaching out. You know that you pushed him away a whole lot more than he’s trying for now, but you’re pretty sure that he won’t appreciate you telling him this is real half-assed and that if he really wanted to ghost you, he’d just fuckin’ do it. You don’t need to encourage that, for sure. It is literally the opposite of what you want, here.

Dirk just stares at you. Okay, he’s not getting it, it’s time to switch tracks again. Maybe back to the bit where you call him out, that at least got some kind of a reaction. You feel increasingly like you’re grasping at straws, except you have claws so what you’re really doing is grabbing at them, slicing them up, and creating more straws that are also falling out of your hands. Can’t handle the straws.

“Look, dude. Think about it this way,” you start off on attempt number three. Third time’s the charm, right? It fucking better be, at this point; you’re floundering and he can sense it. “If I told you that you were definitely better off without me here, based on one tiny reaction- and no, don’t argue with me here, I know what I’m about-, would you be down to just let me go, no questions asked, for an indeterminate amount of time?” You wait, looking at him expectantly so he knows you’re wanting an answer.

“I mean. I’d want an explanation,” he says, grudgingly. “But I’d respect your wishes, given that I’ve had problems with boundaries in the past, which I’m trying to fix. And I know that I haven’t been the best at it, with how I kept pushing you, but. I thought you needed it, then. I thought you needed someone in your corner. Now, I’m just not sure if that someone’s gotta be me.”

Later, you’ll marvel at the words, and at Dirk’s capacity not to give up. It’s maybe the one thing that you admire the most about him- that’s entirely him, and not your Bro. Bro’s tenacity was different, aggressive. Dirk’s careful with you, even as he admits that maybe he should’ve been more so. You don’t smile at him, but you do reach out, rest a hand on his shoulder. Fraternal shoulder-grabs for the win. You’re careful with your claws as you give it a squeeze, try and infuse as much comfort into the gesture as you can manage.

“The thing about boundaries is that they’re not all going to be about avoidance and distance,” you say as gentle as you can. You’ve hit something here and you know it, you just need to make him understand. He wants to understand- the fact that he’s standing here and letting you fumble through convincing him says as much. You keep on, getting bolder. You hate being sincere like any Strider does, but you’ve been getting better at it lately. “You can’t just push everyone away and then be surprised when they leave, you can’t keep so much distance that you just, forget you’re meant to be there at all. I know from personal experience,” you tell him, your voice more even than it has any right to be. Your heart’s in your throat, your hands are shaking, and you feel like you’re going to vomit everywhere. Including on him. Jesus fuck, that’s the literal only other way this situation could get any worse, with you barfing all over him.

“I know,” he answers, and his voice just breaks on the second word. He doesn’t bother trying to clear his throat so he can say it again. “But I’m not surprised that people want to leave.”

You wait for one, two, three seconds, but he doesn’t say anything else. You can complete the thought well enough, though, because it’s something you’ve been battling with, these halcyon days on Earth C. You also know enough of Dirk’s history to know exactly what he’s talking about here, and you- well. You can’t say shit to make up for the past.

“You’re surprised that they want to stay.” You say it before you mean to, your brain just going right through your mouth and bypassing whatever’s left of a verbal filter. The words echo like a gunshot, and do something strange, making the world around you fade out and quieten, like it’s trying to amplify you putting all eight feet of your tail into your mouth. Of course it is. “You’re surprised that I want to stay. That I want you here.”

God, that feels awkward just saying it, but it’s true. It is.

“Aren’t you?” he asks after a long second. Dirk finally tilts his head up to meet your eyes, shades to shades, and isn’t that how it always is. You want to rip those dumb fucking Kamina glasses off his face and pulverize them.

Instead, you just look away, sick to the stomach with your own cowardice. Sometimes, you hate how much he seems to understand you, and you hate that you don’t understand him nearly as well in return.

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when you look over, you see that his head is tilted back. He’s staring up at the sky. It seems so much larger than the two of you. You could be the only people in the world right now, sitting here in this meadow smack dab in the Consort Kingdom. It’s a staggeringly lonely feeling.

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” you say. “We’re in completely different situations here and you know it. It’s like, apples and oranges. Ha, oranges.” You shake your head, snorting at your own shitty joke. Dirk’s markedly silent, which is a shame for a guy who’s meant to appreciate humor despite coming off like he doesn’t even know what it is. “Not to be that bitch giving you a compliment or anything, but you do okay. And you actually do have friends, dumbass. I don’t think that shit going down now could be worse than what went down before, so you might as well stop trying to brand yourself as some tragic lonely god-figure they’re gonna talk about in a couple of centuries. Because I will make it sound like the tragedy is your bad breath.”

“What the fuck, I brush my teeth,” he says, startled into offense. Dirk checks with a surreptitious sniff anyway, though, because that’s the kind of person he is. “And you didn’t know me through the shit that went down before, so you don’t get to say.”

“No, dunkass,” you roll your eyes, because wow, he’s being obtuse as fuck. “Stop being denser than a sack of fucking bricks. Or Jake English’s thick skull- which, by the way, you owe me money on. Dude’s never had a concussion in his life and you know it. Either that or he lives in a state of being constantly concussed, but that’s basically the same thing. Anyway. Literally all I’ve heard is that you’re trying to be better and do better, and if I’ve stepped my ass out and decided to give you a chance, you don’t exactly gotta try and change my mind all slow and subtle. If you don’t want to hang out with me, just- fucking say so.”

You have to stop, else you’ll get all worked up and even more off track, because Dirk’s looking confused as all hell now. Or so you assume, he’s mostly doing a little frown and his eyebrows are drawn together.

“I never said that I don’t want to hang out with you.”

Of course that would be the part that he hones in on.

“Look, that’s not the point,” you insist. “The point was that you can’t just, act like a dick because you think that you’re going to be some horrible monster of a person in the future and that because you did some shit in the past, you’re not allowed to have friends. Because that’s dumb as hell and if that’s your thought process, you need to stop talking about your IQ. Also, we all know you never took an IQ test, so you should stop it anyway.”

“I took like ten Internet tests, which you should jot down. And its’ not that I don’t deserve it, I just-,”

“Go on,” you prompt. You’re feeling unreasonably smug, because there he is, caught in the crosshairs of his own faulty logic. The shoe is on the other foot now, sucker, and you’re gonna savor it. “You gonna say that it’s just that there’s no reason for me to like you? Because if so, you’ve been trying awful hard in the past to convince me otherwise.”

You know exactly what you need to do right now, thank fuck. You couldn’t flounder for much longer.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“It’s not that I don’t deserve friends, it’s not about deserving. It’s more that I think it would be better for the both of us, if we kept it casual. Like, Friendship Lite. Mostly via text, admittedly.”

“I think it’s a little bit too late to try and revert to that bullshit.” It comes out colder, angrier, than you want, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “Don’t fuckin’ lecture me on what kind of friendship you think we should have, when it’s like you’ve been trying to sabotage the whole goddamn thing, what the _fuck,_ Dirk?”

Okay, stopping to calm down is no longer an option. You’re about to go nuclear on this bitch, and you’re not even remotely sorry about it. You probably will be, once the adrenaline wears off and your heart’s in your chest and not your throat.

“It’s not _sabotage_ ,” he says, equally cold and clinical. You think he’s angry, and maybe part of you wants to quail and hide at the thought, but the majority is real fuckin’ against it and determined to be heard. You thought that all this shit got put behind you before, but apparently you’re not the only one whose bullshit is getting in the way. It’d be refreshing, if you weren’t irritated as fuck by it. “I just think that it might be easier on the both of us if we weren’t so- invested.”

“Are you saying that it’s a bad thing that I give a shit about having you as a friend?” You are really just not sure how to wrap your mind around that one, admittedly. But that’s because it makes no goddamn sense.

“I- no?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, pointedly.

“Well now you’ve just gone and made it sound dumb as all hell,” he sighs out, but he doesn’t sound particularly frustrated about it. Just- resigned. You’ll take that. “I just meant that I’m not entirely certain that our friendship is good for you.”

“Okay, well,” you say, nice and slow and maybe a little bit patronizing to really rub it in so he _doesn’t_ decide to be a huge dumbass, “This is me telling you that I’m the one who gets to make that decision, and while I appreciate your concern and everything, it only sounds dumb as hell because it _is_ dumb as hell, and it ain’t ever gonna stop being dumb as hell. Are you dumb as hell, Dirk?”

“I feel like you’re enjoying this a little bit too much,” he says, reluctant. But it’s not cold or angry or deliberate, just tired now.

“Answer the question,” you prompt. You don’t bother to keep the smug note out of your voice. He needs to hear it, he needs to know that you’re real fucking sure about this. And you are. You don’t know how to tell him that outright, not yet, but you know that you’ll be able to one day. For now, you think it’s good enough that you’re talking him down from whatever idiocy he’s got in his head.

“I’m not dumb as hell,” he finally sighs out. Victory, sweet victory.

“Then don’t act like it, and let me decide what’s good for me,” you tell him firmly. No room for argument here, bucko, and that’s that. “Now. Go put on Mario Kart so I can kick your not dumb ass.”

You expect him to protest for a solid second; there’s still tension in his shoulders and unhappiness lingering in the corners of his mouth. But he doesn’t, and part of you uncoils in relief when he fetches the controllers and perches himself on the very edge of your couch, not a foot away from you. The rest of you? You’re not too ashamed to admit that you’re fucking giddy with success.

It’s not even a surprise, when you catch him for a hug before he leaves and he lets you.


	10. Chapter 10

Time passes.

You become less and less aware of it, whatever subconscious impulse that had you keeping count of the days like they were going to be your last. Instead, you fill them with your own projects. Shitty comics and ones that aren’t shitty, and drawing is like flexing an unused muscle for the first time, but you think it’s fine, that you’ve outgrown SBaHJ. You’ve outgrown a lot of things.

The easy days become more frequent for you, the days where you just lay in bed with a heavy chest and a heavy head start to fade into the background. It helps, that you can talk to Dirk on those days- and even Dave, and Rose, and sometimes Jade. You try not to be too surprised by that.

You are, you think, happy.


End file.
